Time's Champion
by sss979
Summary: BOOK TWO OF THE TIME WAR. In the midst of the Dalek Crisis, the Doctor must decide if he will embrace his role as Gallifrey's hero or run from the people he was always meant to protect. One future condemns him to a fate worse than death, and the other to a guilt that he may never recover from.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Thanks as always to my cowriter, thagrrrl79, my beta, thanatosx49, and the ever-present encouragement and support from tdinttwrt. You guys make writing so rewarding!**

**PROLOGUE**

The man was sitting calmly at the café, with a glass of white wine that was undoubtedly the best that could be found for several galaxies. It was said that tastes changed from one regeneration to the next, but he had never found that to be the case. At least, not where fine wine was concerned.

He was well dressed, if deceptively casual. The café patrons, coming and going, paid him no heed. He seemed to blend in, to remain unnoticed without even trying. True, there was nothing special about him. At least, not to the naked eye. But if any of the simpleminded creatures on this planet had known where he had been, they would have hesitated to let their eyes linger too long for fear that _he_ might notice _them_. For fear that the evil that had he had faced might somehow infect them like a virus.

He had known evil in his years - intimately, in ways that these humans never could. This race of primitives warred with themselves, shooting and torturing and killing, true enough. They called that evil, and perhaps it was evil enough. But the type of evil he had seen, where billions died every day in senseless slaughter, where entire planets were annihilated simply because of their position in the stars and the creatures who crossed their unfortunate paths... the humans knew nothing of this. They had no concept of a weapon that could destroy an entire planet in the blink of an eye. In this age of enlightenment and reason, tolerance and goodwill, the thought was foreign to them. They were as innocent children, desperately clinging to their naivete, believing that living creatures were basically good, and any who were not were an anomaly. He knew that not to be the case. The people of this universe - in any race or creed or originating planet - were cruel, selfish, desperate creatures. The oddity was to find one capable of goodness, of mercy. Such men no longer existed. Not in his world...

The scraping of the chair across from him caught his attention, and he looked up as a similarly dressed man took a seat without a word. It wasn't only his attire that was similar. Anyone might have guessed that they were brothers or, at the very least, cousins. They weren't.

"I was almost beginning to think you wouldn't show," he said, leaning forward to pour the newcomer a glass of wine from the chilled bottle.

"I was the one who summoned you here, if I recall."

"True. But I thought you might have lost your nerve."

"I somehow doubt that thought ever crossed your mind."

Setting the wine bottle back in its bucket of ice, the younger looking of the two men reclined again and steepled his fingers in front of his lips. He shouldn't be here. He knew it. He knew the man sitting across from him knew it. It was unspoken and understood, as so many things were between them. But at the same time that he knew it was dangerous and ethically suspect, the request for the meeting had not caught him off guard.

"Why am I here?"

The older man lifted the glass to his lips and inhaled deeply before taking a sip. He was in no hurry to answer, so the younger continued.

"I'll be honest, I didn't expect to hear from you again. In my time, this sort of meeting is... dangerous."

The older man chuckled. "Dangerous? I should expect that in your time, this sort of meeting is common."

"Why would you expect that?"

"Gallifrey has been threatened," the older man said simply. He paused for a moment, long enough to steal a glance across the table at the unchanged posture of the younger man. "By the Daleks."

"I see."

"The timecode readings on the energy signature suggest that the entire event was a paradox, sustained by what we are referring to as the Unkown Ship."

"And let me guess," the younger man said with lowered eyes, "you blew it out of the sky with time torpedoes and a Z-Neutrino warhead and now everyone believes it to be destroyed."

"Three days ago."

"So what do you want from me?" He glanced up again, across the table. "Do you want me to tell you about the coming Time War?"

"Hardly anything so... detailed." The older man paused, and took a sip of wine. "I know that it happens, and I know that you're right in the middle of it. That's enough."

"You knew that before you sought me out."

"True. Though I must admit, I didn't realize _how _involved you were."

"And now you do?"

"There's still blood under your fingernails."

The younger man hesitated, casting a quick glance down at his hands by reflex alone. But he made no effort to hide the incriminating evidence. After a brief pause, he looked up again, staring the other man squarely in the eye. "Are you asking how it got there?"

"No."

"Then what are you asking?"

"For your help."

The silence lingered for a moment before the younger man sighed, and reached a hand into his pocket, withdrawing a small holographic recorder that looked very much like a wristwatch. He moved his wine glass aside before setting it on the table.

"What is this?" the older man asked.

"Guard it well. If anyone catches you with that before the appointed time, they won't hesitate to destroy it, and you with it."

The older man's eyes narrowed. "If this is a recording of future events, that's not the kind of help I had in -"

"The universe is one giant paradox by my time," the younger man interrupted. "Consider this my... contribution. To the survival of Gallifrey, at all costs."

"I would rather have your opinion."

"My opinion? On Romana, you mean."

"Yes."

The younger man sat back again, getting comfortable and reaching for his glass. He had known this conversation was coming. He was here precisely for that reason. He had prepared for it, for centuries. Even so, he was going to need another glass of wine. Or two. Perhaps three. The thought of adding another half dozen paradoxes to the already unraveling Web of Time made his skin crawl.

"She's attempting to trace the timeline," the older man continued. "Now that she has coordinates from the Unknown Ship, she's trying to find out where it originated."

"The Council approved it?"

"They almost certainly will."

"Then it's their mess to clean up."

The older man's eyes narrowed. "Need I remind you, I'm the High Chancellor of Gallifrey. Any mess involving the High Council is precisely mine to clean up."

"I'm very much aware of your position - politically and otherwise. But I'm not certain what you want me to say. If the Council approves, they have your voice as well. Are you second guessing yourself?"

"Perhaps."

The younger man looked away.

"By tracing that ship, she's solidifying the paradox."

"So tell her that."

"I have done. But she's not opposed to wiping that entire timeline out of existence once she finds the zero point. And frankly, mine would be the only voice of dissent if that were to happen."

"She will never find the zero point." Making brief eye contact, the younger man gave a polite smile as he added, "In my opinion."

"That's good to know, but it's not the entirety of the problem. Anything we do based on the intrusion of that ship reinforces the paradox of its existence before its time."

"What difference does it make? You already know a war is coming."

The older man's eyes narrowed. "If I didn't know better, I would judge that you've grown very careless in your old age."

"I've grown to accept the harsh reality of our situation," the younger man said plainly. "We are at war and we are all going to die. The paradoxes of my day have all but destroyed the fabric of time. It's disintegrating around us. That is simply a fact."

"The inevitability does not mean that I feel it's safe, let alone _right_, to play fast and loose with the laws of time _now_. In my time, we're not yet at war."

"Of course you are."

The older man raised a brow.

"The Daleks have attacked, Romana is searching for the zero point. It's the very nature of a time war that each party tries to preempt the other's initial attack."

"She doesn't see it that way."

"How she perceives her actions won't matter in the end. She's declaring war, plain and simple."

"You said she won't find the zero point."

"No, she won't. But that doesn't change anything. Both sides are engaged in their attempts at preventing the other. The battle itself, the physicality of lives lost, all of that is as irrelevant as it is inevitable."

"I know you're not suggesting that we shouldn't protect ourselves against the Daleks. If tracing the paradox is an act of war, it's a responsive action."

"Each side could point fingers at each other from now until oblivion. But what difference does it make?"

"It makes a great deal of difference. Romana, the Council, the people of Gallifrey - none of us are prepared to say that we're willing to declare open war. That's not something the Time Lords have done since the days of Rassilon. And I'm not about to accuse the president of instigating a time war."

"Perhaps you should."

There was no response to that suggestion except a brief look of shock. The younger man sighed, and looked up with tired eyes.

"For what it's worth, Chancellor, my loyalty to Romana remains as firm as ever. She has always and will always respond with the best interest of her people in mind. But that doesn't change the fact that the progression is guaranteed, regardless of the details. I don't even know who started it anymore - no one does. It's been changed and changed again so many times, there's no way to tell. The fact is, simply, that it's coming. Nothing else matters."

The older man nodded slowly, solemnly, but said nothing. Then, sliding his glass aside, he leaned forward. "If Gallifrey is to be destroyed by the Daleks, I don't want to know how or when."

"That's good. Because I can't tell you. As I said, I don't even remember anymore."

"Alright, but tell me this." He paused for a long moment, considering his words carefully before he spoke them. "Knowing what you know now, the way her actions progressed, the inevitability of certain events in the Web of Time... would you have stopped her?"

"You're assuming that I _didn't _stop her."

"I'm not inclined to challenge her political decisions without a substantial reason for doing so."

The younger man chuckled. "Oh, aren't you? Who do you think you're talking to?"

"My advice has already been offered. She has rejected it. To interfere further would require more... drastic persuasion."

"A coup, you mean?" He sounded amused by the thought.

The tone made the older man frown. "I wouldn't put it that way."

"Don't try it. Don't even think it. You'll accomplish nothing and frankly, you need her allegiance. And the Doctor's."

"The Doctor? He's alive, then?"

The amusement faded into a solemn, distant look as the younger man stared at his wine glass, running his fingers slowly up and down the stem. Then, very slowly, he looked up from his wine and straight into the eyes of his former, "older" incarnation. He held his gaze for a long, silent moment before he spoke quietly, haunted by the pain that somehow formed into words he hadn't even known he was capable of before he spoke.

"If I'd known then what I know now," he whispered, "I would have fled Gallifrey, secured the Collection, and sought refuge as far away as I could possibly get. And having said that, I think I'm very glad that I didn't know then what I know now."


	2. Chapter One - Some Time Later

**CHAPTER ONE**

**Some Time Later...**

"How's your burn?"

Leela touched her arm a bit gingerly, noting the white splotches that quickly turned red as she took her hand away. "It is not so bad," she said confidently. "I have been burned more severely by the sun."

The Doctor's eyes lingered on her for a moment. The pain of a sunburn might have been worse - for now, at least. But the cellular damage of her current injury was more severe, he was sure. If she had been exposed to the intensity of pure harmonic energy long enough to burn, it was very likely that her skin would keep burning, deeper and deeper through each layer. It could still kill her. She needed treatment. So did he, for that matter, although his body would sustain the damage much more slowly.

"You should have it looked at when we get back to Gallifrey," he said. "A few minutes in a rejuvenation chamber will have you feeling good as new."

Leela frowned. "I have no need of a re-juv-en-ation chamber," she answered, hesitating slightly on the word that was foreign to her vocabulary, let alone her way of thinking. "Even severe burns heal with time, and it is not so painful."

The Doctor ignored her, his eyes lingering for a long moment on Narvin's blackened, charred body. His burns would certainly not heal. The Doctor had maintained a shred of hope that he might be able to regenerate, even after his life signs had stopped and the Doctor had dragged him away from the console. But his body had been still and cold for nearly an hour now. An hour, at least, by the Doctor's guess. The artificial temporal field inside of a Tardis that was not his own coupled with the time distortion wave caused by the torpedoes fired upon the Unknown Ship were wreaking havoc with his senses.

"Do you think it is safe now?" Leela asked.

"Safe for what?"

"To touch the console?"

The Doctor studied it for a moment, looking for traces of the artron energy that might still be lingering. But he didn't see any. "I don't know," he admitted. "I've never been inside the control room of a reformatting Tardis. Normally, I'm stuck on the other side of a deadlocked door, like it or not."

Leela frowned. "But you have a key."

"Even with a key, that door won't open until the process is complete. The only reason we were able to get in is because the Tardis actually materialized around us."

He cast a lingering glance across the room at the door that led out into the Vortex, where they had been drifting ever since Narvin had transferred them there. It was a safer place than the Dalek ship, and that had been the goal. In the Vortex, they were relatively safe. They had only to wait until the inside of the Tardis was safe, too. In the meantime, they remained sitting on the floor, huddled against the door that led deeper into the Tardis. It, too, had been deadlocked, trapping them on the wrong side.

"I have not seen the light for some time now," Leela said quietly, encouragingly.

"What light?"

"The light that moved around the console."

"Oh, that light." He paused, letting his mind wander back to the feeling of that light, the way it had drifted across his skin, prickling and burning. "Pure artron energy. The life force of the Tardis."

"How do we know when it is safe?"

Clearly, Leela's patience was wearing thin. However long they had been crouched here, it had been longer than she would've liked. The Doctor sighed, and stood up slowly, carefully. He turned to face the door behind him and tried the handle.

"It's still locked."

"What does that mean?"

"It means she doesn't want visitors yet." He turned back to the console, weaving carefully through the charred casings of the Daleks in the room, and circled slowly, identifying components but touching nothing. No matter what type, how old or how new, certain elements of a Tardis were always the same. Auxilary power control, recall indicator, scanner, fast return switch, isomorphic control unit... The Doctor eyed the last component for a long moment. Interfacing with a Tardis offered more control than flying it cold, on full manual. Newly reformatted, she would most likely be temperamental and difficult to control. But all he really needed was to get them back to Gallifrey. That wasn't a difficult trip to make, no matter where in the Vortex they'd ended up.

Very slowly, the Doctor approached the console, ignoring the rigid, blackened body on the floor beside him. He drew in a deep breath before touching his fingertips lightly to the edge of her console. "Easy," he whispered softly, calmly.

"What are you doing?" Leela asked curiously.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm talking to her."

"To a machine?"

"She's more than just a machine, Leela."

"Can she understand you?"

"As much as any controller who's not isomorphically linked," he answered quietly. "She doesn't understand words. Her language is emotion and life force energies. But those are closely related to tone."

"Oh, I see. Like an animal. If you talk soothingly, it is more likely to trust you."

He could feel the hum of her energies in the console, still awake and very active. The softly glowing time rotor pulsed in slow rhythm. His hands moved slowly, as if coaxing an uncertain lover to relax. Finally, he let his hand rest on the controls to set the coordinates.

"I'm going to take you home," he whispered softly. "Home to Gallifrey. To Romana. You remember Romana, don't you?"

He conjured up the strongest mental image of her that he could - her voice, her tone, her smile, her scent, her laugh. The Tardis hummed softly, and he smiled.

"There we go. Nice and slow."

With smooth, fluid movements, he set the coordinates, cycled her engines, and eased her into motion. As the piston in the time rotor rose and fell slowly, a smile crossed his face.

"Very good," he said softly. "That's very, very good. You know, I think you could teach my Tardis a thing or two about smooth transitions under pressure."

*X*X*X*

The High Council was gathered by the time Romana entered the chambers. Not allowing her eyes to linger on any one of them for too long, she sat down, took a deep breath, and folded her hands in front of her. She had grown quite used to being summoned by the Council lately - to account for her actions, her statements, her thoughts, the lack thereof.

"I understand you all wanted to see me," she said as flatly as she could manage. But she was tense, and on edge. It was the High Council's right and, arguably, their duty to question her decisions. She just hated that they had to do it so frequently, and with such enthusiasm.

"You are hereby advised," Inquisitor Darkel stated formally, "that a formal petition has been filed requesting the transfer of all matters involving the Daleks to Acting Coordinator Rodak of the CIA."

Romana almost imperceptibly quirked an eyebrow. "On what grounds?"

Councilor Panteral replied before Darkel had the chance. "On the grounds that the Dalek Crisis was never properly a matter of your jurisdiction in the first place."

"The Daleks invading Gallifrey, not a matter of my jurisdiction!"

"With respect, Madame President, the Daleks never set foot on Gallifrey."

"Indeed they did not," she muttered under her breath. "And no thanks to the CIA."

Panteral frowned. "It is believed that Coordinator Narvin died in the service of Gallifrey. In what way do we owe him no thanks?"

Romana gave Panteral a stern look. "Far be it from me to withhold credit where credit is due. But I hardly think the CIA is equipped to handle a situation of such magnitude and importance to the people of Gallifrey."

"With the exception of a single ship," Castellan Olivet said, "the Daleks never even made it onto our plane. Believe me, I would love to retain this as a matter of the Chancellery Guard's jurisdiction. But until or unless the Daleks cross the transduction barrier, their attempted invasion does remain an interplanetary affair."

"If I have no jurisdiction over interplanetary affairs, perhaps someone had best explain to me what I'm supposed to be _doing _as president," Romana said coolly. "The Daleks have made it clear that they are, and will continue to be a distinct threat to Gallifrey."

"A threat which, with all due respect, the CIA can manage," Panteral said confidently. "And has done for many, many years."

"Oh, clearly! That's why two hundred thousand Dalek ships were gathered at the edge of our plane!"

"In addition," Darkel interrupted, "the Cardinal representatives of several houses have requested a formal inquiry into your behavior regarding the Dalek Crisis."

Romana blinked, startled, then frowned. "What sort of inquiry?"

"Specifically, they want your methods and motives publicly evaluated."

"My motives!"

"They wish to address the way that you handled the situation during the Crisis and since, whether your current security measures are in the best interest of the people of Gallifrey, and what role, if any, you should be allowed in the ongoing CIA operations regarding the Daleks."

Romana's jaw tightened, but she managed to keep her tone calm and even. "Why the show of force?" she demanded. "I have been more willing than any president in history to make time to listen to any grievance put forth by any Time Lord, regardless of rank or political position. My door is always open, and none of them have seen fit to approach it."

Darkel folded her hands in front of her, eyeing Romana with a piercing gaze. "Simply put, Madame President, the Crisis is over. Your state of executive power would only be applicable if we were in a position of war - or imminent war - and in no case does the current state of affairs imply such."

"As long as Gallifrey remains in a state of paralysis, waiting for you to officially declare us safe," Panteral added, "we cannot move on. To that end, I agree that a formal inquiry is in order."

"Right or wrong, Madame President, the restrictions on travel are crippling to our technological advancements," Matrix Coordinator Marstis said quietly. "To say nothing of our ongoing relations with the other temporal powers."

Romana cast a gaze over the Council, letting them linger for a moment on Braxiatel, who was sitting particularly silent in the chair to her right, observing calmly. Then she took a breath and addressed the woman who would forever be a thorn in her side.

"The continued silence and apparent absence of the Daleks is not a sign that the Crisis is over. Quite the contrary; it is a sign that they are regrouping, watching and waiting for us to let our guard down. And I will do everything in my power as president to ensure that we are not left to their mercy, or lack thereof."

"But they're _not _regrouping," Panteral said. "All reports indicate that they are tucked away safely on Skaro with only a few random ships traveling here and there across the timeline."

Romana gave a short laugh. "Surely you've not forgotten that the last time they left, we didn't even know about it until they were practically on our doorstep!"

"Madame President, is there really such a great threat?" Marstis interrupted. Unlike the others, who were cold and accusing, he sounded almost pleading. "The ship was destroyed. We saw it happen. It's a fixed point in the Matrix; I could show it to you."

"Thank you. You already have done," Romana answered.

"I understand that the Daleks are dangerous - perhaps the most dangerous species in the universe. I've seen what they're capable of insomuch as it's recorded in the Matrix. I was here when they did invade Gallifrey, the first time. I took your statements, your memories of your time as their prisoner. Far be it from me to underestimate the Daleks. But their existence on the edge of our plane was reliant upon the paradox of the Unknown Ship. Once it was no longer able to sustain the paradox, that entire timeline unraveled. They're gone. I will be the first to agree with you that they may try again, sometime in the future. But that could be centuries from now, millennia even!"

She leveled her gaze on Marstis. "Or it could be tomorrow. We simply don't know."

"But must we live in constant, crippling fear when there is no more reason to believe that it will be tomorrow than that it will be generations from now? Our preparations are in place. Keep them! But let the people rest in security and peace. They don't need to be impeded or even aware of the precautions we are taking."

She narrowed her eyes as she looked over the council again. "Doesn't it bother any of you that we still don't know what that Unknown Ship was or where they got it? That we still don't know what started the paradoxes, only that this mysterious ship had something to do with it?"

"Of course it does, Madame President," Castellan Olivet answered. "And no one is denying that the ship could still exist in some future point in Gallifrey's timeline."

"Which is why the CIA will keep a very close eye on Skaro," Panteral informed. "And I can assure you, we're all keeping a very close eye on anyone who might have the capability to construct such a ship."

Finally, Braxiatel looked up and addressed the Council with authority. "I believe the point the Madame President is trying to make is that this Unknown Ship is just that - unknown. We do not know its origins or its purpose. For all we know, it is stolen Gallifreyan technology. The Daleks have already demonstrated their ability to paradoxically navigate the Web of Time. To presume that they will not find a way to locate the Unknown Ship again - even if we did witness its destruction - is foolhardy at best. The fact that we saw it destroyed is no guarantee that the same scenario could not repeat itself a second time with an alternate temporal version of the same ship."

"Even if it does," Panteral replied, "must we cower in fear from now until then?"

Romana frowned deeply. "We are hardly cowering, Lord Panteral."

"As requested," Darkel interrupted, "and as permitted by law, the inquiry proceedings will be public, open to the cardinals as well as members of the press. Such proceedings will commence within the next week." Darkel leveled a gaze at Romana and gave a polite - impossibly wicked - smile. "You have been officially informed of your duty to attend, Madame President."

Romana glared back as her anger seethed. But she answered with impeccable calm and a pleasant, hate-filled smile. "Oh, I'll be there, Inquisitor. I look forward to it."


	3. Chapter Two - Politics

**CHAPTER TWO**

**Politics**

Leela did not think she had ever been so happy to know she was back on Gallifrey. It was a miserable planet on the best of days. But nearly any planet would have been better than spending one more minute locked inside of that control room with Narvin's dead body.

She had never liked Narvin; he'd placed too much trust in people's titles and roles rather than in their actions. It was a fool's method of choosing between allies and enemies. He had chosen her for an enemy the moment he'd laid eyes on her, simply because she was unlike him and his people. She did not mind that he had considered her an enemy; she had thought the same of him. But in no case did that mean she wanted him to die such a painful death.

Her stomach turned every time she considered what his final moments must have been like. Not the final moments of life - she had been there for that. But the final moments of pain, before the body was too badly destroyed to feel what was happening to it. She had witnessed people burning to death before. She had heard them screaming. It was a horrific way to die. The best one could hope for was to die a quick death. But it had taken a very long time for Narvin to die, she knew.

The interior of the Tardis quieted as they materialized inside of the Citadel, and the Doctor stepped back from the controls, announcing, "We're here."

She stood carefully to her feet, measuring each step to keep a safe distance from the console as she moved to the door. It hadn't killed the Doctor the way it had killed Narvin. But she did not yet trust that it was safe. Ahead of her, the Doctor reached for the lever to open the door. "Now, let's see if she'll let us out."

To Leela's relief, the door swung open, flooding the dim room with light. Without a word or another moment of hesitation, Leela wove her way through the blackened Dalek casings and stepped out into the large open room of the Citadel's berthing bays. There, she stopped suddenly as she realized that a half dozen stazer pistols were trained directly on her.

"Hello, Savage."

At first, Leela did not recognize the men, only the hostility. She did not know their faces. But as she studied them, she could decipher their importance. Their robes - and the lack of that hideous collar - identified them as members of the CIA. As the Doctor stepped out behind her, he greeted them with obvious confusion, hands raised. There was black grime on them from where he'd held Narvin's body, and the charred skin had simply sloughed off.

"Um... hello." The way his eyes darted from one man to the next might have been mistaken for fear. But Leela knew him better than that. He was wary of the men and their guns, but he was not afraid.

"You are the Doctor?" one of the men demanded.

"Yes, that's me," the Doctor answered confidently.

"Right, then. You're coming with us."

*X*X*X*

The chancellery guard posted themselves dutifully outside the door to Romana's office as she passed. She didn't acknowledge them, or Braxiatel who followed her inside, closing the door behind him. He would not have been surprised to find that she didn't want company, but she didn't tell him to leave, either.

"Well, that could've gone better," she muttered as she circled her desk and flopped down in her seat in a very informal sprawl. "A formal petition to strip my authority _and _an inquiry into my ability to properly govern Gallifrey. Could this day get any worse?"

Braxiatel watched her out of the corner of his eye as he walked to the corner table, fixed two drinks, and took one to her, setting it on the desk within her reach. "With all due respect, Madame President, neither comes as a surprise."

"Oh, of course not." Romana sounded far less sure of herself in the safety of her own office than she had in the council chambers. And a bit more emotional, as well. "How could the Council pass up the chance to file some motion or another questioning my methods?"

He sat across from her, reclining comfortably and sipping his drink. She was angry, she was rattled, and she was frustrated. But she was far from defeated. With a deep sigh, she looked up at him.

"Honestly, Braxiatel, haven't I proven myself a more than adequate president by now? In the years since I was elected, Gallifrey has _flourished_!"

"I don't believe anyone would dispute that."

"If someone else thinks they can do better, I would encouragethem to try. Instead, they choose to provide a running commentary on my perceived failures. Which may or may not even _be _failures!"

He sipped his drink calmly, and watched her. It was not the first time they'd had this conversation. Many times, over the years, her radical thinking and changes to policy had rattled the Council's cage. They had, in turn, lashed out at her. He would've thought she'd become accustomed to it by now.

"Why must they fight me at every turn?" she sighed, hiding her face with her hand. "What have I ever done that is so... threatening to them!"

He chuckled. "Perhaps K-9 could recite the list for you chronologically."

She glared back at him, grateful that K-9, resting quietly in the corner, didn't jump at the opportunity.

"You stretch their comfort zone, Madame President," Braxiatel continued simply. "You've always done. Opening the Academy to outsiders was a bold move. Establishing treaties with foreign powers was another."

"We may need those treaties," Romana said tightly. "And soon."

"We may. But the members of the High Council are more likely to see that we _haven't _needed them for millions of years. And now suddenly, under your presidency, we do."

"Things change, Braxiatel. Sooner or later, they must. No society can survive in a bubble forever."

"You've made your convictions very clear, and your reasons. But you've also made more changes to Gallifrey than the past two dozen presidents combined."

"But the changes I've made have _benefited _Gallifrey!"

"Benefited, yes, but also confused."

"Confused?"

"Our Non-Interference Policy still stands and yet we have regular conference with various races across the galaxies. In the Academy, students are taught the laws preventing their interaction with lesser species while sitting alongside the very people they're not permitted to interact with. The situation is... awkward."

Romana sighed deeply, exasperated. "And yet the predictions that interacting with other races or opening up the Academy to outsiders would cause the entire Web of Time to unravel seem to be unfounded."

Braxiatel smiled. "That's not the point, Romana."

"Well, what is?"

He eyed her for a moment. She was glaring back, but he knew her frustration was not meant for him. He simply happened to be in her line of fire. He sighed as he let his smile fall, and addressed her with calm simplicity. "You're changing Gallifrey's path - our political and social position relative to the rest of the universe. Never more so than since the Dalek Crisis."

"What do you mean?"

"The travel restrictions, the oppressive security... the Time Lords aren't the only ones who find it a bit heavy handed."

"If it keeps us safe..."

"Then in the end, they will never know the danger they were in. But until that end, they will oppose you."

She sipped her drink and sighed. "If only we could find out what the hell that ship was and where it came from, I would feel a lot better about handing the situation over to the CIA."

"I think those answers will come with time, whether we seek them or not."

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of." She sat back and raised a hand to rub the bridge of her nose. "Oh, what was I thinking when I gave the order to open fire on that ship?"

"With respect, Madame President, at the moment you may want to give less of your tiresome worry to the Daleks and more to the upcoming inquiry."

"And what, pray tell, do I have to worry about, Chancellor?"

Braxiatel eyed her carefully. "By and large, the people love you, Romana, even if they do want the heightened security to end. No attempt to take over your position would succeed by popular vote, and the whole Council knows it. Unless they find a way to depose you on legal grounds of misconduct, your presidency is ensured."

Clearly, she was shocked. And angry. The fire that flashed in her eyes wasn't quite captured by her constricted voice. "_What _misconduct!"

"You know Inquisitor Darkel at least as well as I do. Do you really believe she would go through the trouble of an inquiry if there was nothing to gain?"

Romana's eyes narrowed. "I have done nothing wrong."

"Are you certain of that?"

"Is it your opinion that a valid argument could be made for my removal from office?"

Braxiatel raised a brow. "A _valid _argument?"

"No one disputes the facts of the Dalek Crisis, only the consequences still in effect. The most they can do is rule that they're unjustified and force me to undo them. It would leave us vulnerable to the Daleks but in no way does it further Darkel's political career."

"No one disputes the facts, but the justification of your response to them is what this inquiry is all about."

"What do you mean?"

"They're almost certainly going to say you overreacted. In retrospect, it could be made into a valid argument. It's certainly a valid reason to question your convictions that there will be a second attack."

"The Unknown Ship seems to prove there will be a second attack."

"The existence of the Unknown Ship is most likely paradoxical."

"So what if it is? It changes nothing."

"It changes everything, Madame President. There is no way of knowing that any timeline in which it exists is still secure."

She stared at him, struck. "You seriously believe that? The fixed point of that ship's existence - it's invasion of Gallifrey! - should just be disregarded because the sequence of events _might _have been tampered with at some point in the future?"

He winced. "'Future' is a difficult concept to define. And in any case, what I believe isn't in question. The rest of the Council will have their own opinions. The fact remains, Romana, your insistence that there was ever truly a threat that the Daleks would breach the gap between their plane and ours in the first place very much looks like so much paranoia in retrospect."

"But they did. That command ship _had _crossed onto our plane."

"But you had no way of knowing that when you raised the alarm. In fact, you raised the alarm based on a warning from the Visionary."

"What difference does that make?"

"It means that you're not in a position to disregard any of the Visionary's words as unreliable. They were the justification of your political actions - including his words regarding the Doctor, the one who shall 'call fire from the pits of hell' and kill us all. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

She gave a short laugh. "Ah, yes, it all comes back to the Doctor again. Presidents before me called on him numerous times to clean up their messes, but I'm the one questioned for requesting his assistance in _preventing_ a mess before it happens."

"If they can prove that you employed the Doctor in spite of the fact that you believed he was, himself, the greatest threat to Gallifrey. That fact alone could be grounds for impeachment."

Romana sighed deeply, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "In neither case do I come out in a good light. One way, I'm being paranoid; the other, I enlisted the help of the person I believed to be destined to destroy us, thereby putting the whole of Gallifrey at risk. I do believe the phrase is 'damned if I do, damned if I don't.'"

Braxiatel smiled politely. "_Now _you understand the situation."

Raising his glass in a gesture very much like a toast, he acknowledged her scowl in his direction, and finished his drink.

*X*X*X*

"Are you quite certain you can do what you aspire to do?"

Darkel eyed the CIA Coordinator suspiciously. He had come to her office, not the other way around, and from the look in his eyes she was almost certain he intended to pose no threat. Still, she didn't trust him. She hadn't known him long enough to trust him. And even if she had known him for ages, he did not strike her as the sort of man who was worthy of more than a superficial sort of trust.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

Rodak laughed heartily. "Oh, come now, Inquisitor." He stepped closer, leaning on the back of the chair across from her. "I was friends with Coordinator Narvin for years before I took over this role. I'm very much aware of your political ambitions."

"Then why ask?"

He shrugged. "I have no interest in what your intent is once you successfully remove Romana from her office. But I want to be absolutely certain that you are fully equipped to make the most of this upcoming inquiry."

Darkel raised a brow at his forwardness, and set her pen aside as she gave him her undivided attention. "Do you know, when you told me you wanted control over the Dalek Crisis, it never even occurred to me that you had any particular ill will toward Romana herself."

"I don't."

"Then why the sudden interest in the inquiry?"

"My interest is in the Doctor."

She snorted with laughter and picked up her pen again. "Then our interests couldn't be more dissimilar," she said dismissively.

"Perhaps not. But if you aid me in my ambitions, I may just be able to aid you in yours."

Pausing for a long moment, she finally glanced up at him again, wary and untrusting. This sort of forwardness - open trust given to a virtual stranger - was either very calculated or very foolhardy on his part. "And what are your ambitions, Coordinator?"

"The Doctor is of some concern to me. And, I think, to you too."

"Hardly. The Doctor is the crutch that President Romana leans on and the support of the general public is hinged on his good will toward her. But defaming him holds no real purpose other than to place a wedge between her and the people of Gallifrey."

"He is of considerably more concern to me," Rodak answered coolly. "And as I said, if you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. And it would be a definite advantage to your... anticipated position if you had the support and backing of the CIA to _keep _that position."

She eyed him carefully. "What is it you want? Beyond control of the Dalek Crisis, that is."

"This inquiry is as much, if not more about the Doctor as Romana. As long as he enjoys such... favorable support among the people of Gallifrey, he poses a threat to me and, frankly, to you."

"Don't overextend the suspension of disbelief you want me to allow," Darkel answered coolly. "As I've said, the Doctor is of no interest to me."

"He will be when the Daleks invade again."

Darkel eyed him.

"If you want a Gallifrey to preside over, you had damn well better do whatever is necessary to change the public's opinion of him. Because he's no hero, inquisitor. And more importantly, he is a variable we cannot control."


	4. Chapter Three - Prisoners

**CHAPTER THREE**

**Prisoners**

With a start, the prisoner awoke. With a gasp, it drew its first full breath of the morning. At one point, it would have cried out from the pain. But there was nothing left to cry now. Pain was such a constant, some days it was the only way the prisoner even knew that it was still alive. Dead things didn't feel pain. Did they?

Eyes opened, it stared for a moment at its surroundings. It was lying on an icy, hard floor. But the floor was unfamiliar. The hum of the Daleks' energy wasn't there. This wasn't the prisoner's cell, its home for however many centuries it had been living at the Daleks' mercy. This was a something new.

With shaky arms, it pushed itself up, careful to brace its weight on the left. The right one had never quite been the same since that first beating, at the hands of the prison caretaker. The arm had been broken. It had taken years to heal...

The effort required to stand seemed greater today than in a very long time. Shaky and disoriented, confused and a bit dizzy, the prisoner looked around, and tried to remember where it was. The Daleks must have brought it here, but there was no memory of the relocation. There was only a fog, a haze of pain and emptiness and numb compliance. The prisoner had been compliant for too long to feel anything now. There was only action and reaction, orders and obedience. There was a memory, somewhere, buried down deep in the soul of all living things. It had a name once. But it didn't remember what that name had been. Much less did it remember how it had gotten here in this strange room.

It didn't even try the door. The door was locked, it was sure. And it didn't really want to get out of here anyways. It was thirsty and hungry and it would only be fed if it remained quiet and obedient, dying in this cell, covered in filth and blood. It barely noticed the smell anymore - ammonia and rotting flesh from the sore on its leg that had been open and bleeding for what seemed like forever. Perhaps "forever" wasn't an exaggeration. Time had no meaning - day and night, year after year...

The prisoner was fairly certain it had been human once. It had clung to that belief through countless hours of torture and hunger and hopeless pain. At this point, such a belief was merely blind faith. It could remember neither mother nor father, family nor friends. It didn't know its home planet, its rank, or its commanding officer. It knew only one thing: It was a prisoner of the Daleks. And as such, it lived only to obey, obey. It lived only as long as it remained obedient.

The door would be locked. And even if it wasn't, the prisoner had no desire to escape. Its survival instinct had been beaten into submission years ago by the cruelty of neglect, to say nothing of the whips and chains of the higher ranking slaves who maintained order on behalf of the Daleks. Its bones had been broken, its skin had been flayed, its will had been crushed. Its mind had snapped, and whatever it had once been, that person had died. All that existed now was a prisoner of the Daleks.

It sat up against the wall, silent and staring blindly into the darkness. It absently wondered if the room really was as dark as it seemed. Its eyesight had been badly damaged by so many years without light, locked in a dark cage. It could barely make out the shadows on most days. The Daleks didn't understand that. They still wanted it to fix things, to do things. They still wanted it to answer, answer, although it was sure it didn't have a voice anymore. They wanted it to obey, obey, even though its will no longer existed.

Closing its eyes slowly, the prisoner drew in a breath as deep as it could manage. Its guards would bring water soon. They would bring scraps of food. Hopefully, if the prisoner was very, very lucky, it would not see the Daleks today. If they came, it knew they would want it to walk again. And that was something the prisoner simply could not do. But it would do, nonetheless. It was not a being which possessed ability and inability. It was only a prisoner of the Daleks.

Voices in the hallway, muffled and not-Dalek. Prison guards, perhaps, coming to bring water.

"I still think we should notify command. There's something alive in there."

"Yes, and by the look of its life signs, it won't be alive for much longer."

"It could be a Dalek."

"Look at it, Bantrel. Look at the readings. Have you ever seen a Dalek with life signs like that? Besides, the Daleks are all burnt to a cinder in the control room."

"What do you think it is?"

"I don't know. But if I had to guess, I think it's human."

The door opened, and the prisoner looked up. The two men looked strange. They were well fed, and clothed with fabric that appeared new. They didn't cruelly blind the prisoner with the light they shined in its direction. But most importantly of all, they didn't appear to have water. Why didn't they have water?

"Hello," one of them greeted hesitantly. "Are you alright?"

The prisoner stared back. Were they talking to it? These strangers must be new. Why didn't they bring water? Why were they talking?

"It's okay," the man said, coming closer and kneeling down to look the prisoner in the eye. He seemed so... healthy. "We're here to help. Can you speak? Can you understand us?"

Speak. The prisoner understood that order. But it didn't know what to say. So it simply opened its mouth and said the one thing it knew to be true. "I am a prisoner of the Daleks."

The man kneeling stared for a moment, then looked over his shoulder at the one still by the door. "Bantrel, call the command center immediately."

"What do I say? Who is he?"

The well-fed man hesitated a moment, then looked back at the prisoner. "It's a prisoner of the Daleks, apparently. And I think... it might be a woman."

*X*X*X*

"I want to see President Romana."

The man who had stepped into the room bore the insignia of a high-ranking CIA official. The Doctor didn't know him, and he didn't care to waste time in making friends. He wanted only one thing. But his request went unacknowledged as the man sat across from him and straightened his robes calmly.

"I understand that you have seen the Unknown Ship."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. "Yes."

"Tell me about it. Please."

For a long moment, the Doctor hesitated. Then he answered as simply as possible. "Big ship, paradoxical, Time Lord in origin."

The man raised a brow. "Time Lord in origin?" he repeated.

"Yes, that's what I said." He leaned forward. "You know, I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm the Doctor. And you are...?"

"Acting CIA Coordinator Rodakselostephosius."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Oh, great. Any relation to former coordinator Vansell?"

"He was from my house, not that it matters."

Fixing the man in his stare, the Doctor leaned forward. "Well, let me be the first to congratulate you on your promotion, since Coordinator Narvin is dead. You'll find his body in the control room of the Tardis."

"Yes, we've already found it."

"And I suppose you'll want a report on just how he died."

"In truth, Doctor, I am far more interested in hearing about the Unknown Ship. And your time aboard it."

"I didn't spend much time aboard it, but I'll be happy to tell you what I know. _After _I speak to President Romana."

The Coordinator was quiet for a long moment. The Doctor never looked away, never broke his stare. He could play this game as well as the next person. He understood the CIA - how they thought, how they worked - better than he'd ever cared to do.

"She doesn't even know I'm here, does she?" he realized, reading the expression on the old-looking face. "You intercepted me, and you haven't told her. Why?"

"There are... things we must discuss."

"What things?"

"Were you aware that there was a Dalek prisoner aboard the Tardis you brought back from the Unknown Ship?"

"No," the Doctor said plainly. "Narvin had gone off on his own to look for prisoners, but I wasn't aware that he'd found any. He didn't have time to tell me about it. And I didn't have time to look around."

Rodak eyed him carefully. "Are you quite certain you know nothing about this prisoner?"

The Doctor returned his steady gaze. "You seem quite certain that I do. But given that I've already told you everything that happened and how _quickly_, given that I was locked in the console room for the duration of the flight, how could I?"

"You tell me."

The Doctor paused, and heaved a sigh. "A prisoner of the Daleks would undoubtedly need medical attention. My first priority would be seeing that she gets it rather than sitting here and talking to you."

Rodak raised a brow. "She?"

For just a moment, the Doctor was caught off guard. Had he said that? He frowned as he realized he didn't know why he'd said that, then tightened his jaw and looked away. Rodak was eying him like a predator that had just cornered its prey.

"An interesting slip of the tongue," Rodak said. "The prisoner is, in fact, female."

"I was thinking about Romana," the Doctor shot, though he knew it was a lie. How had he known that the prisoner was female? He hadn't even known there _was _a prisoner until Rodak had mentioned it. But he had somehow known the prisoner was female...

The paradoxes were messing with his memories. He could feel it.

"What about Romana?"

"She was a prisoner of the Daleks once," the Doctor said. "And speaking of the president, why haven't you told her that I'm here? She's going to be expecting me, you know, and I don't think she'll be terribly pleased to find that you've been keeping me locked up here without so much as telling me what I'm supposed to have done wrong."

"Expecting you?"

The thought seemed to amuse him. It made the Doctor frown. "Yes, that's what I said."

The Coordinator smiled, a scoffing look, as if he had a secret. Then he cleared his throat, leaned forward, and folded his hands. "Doctor, I'm not sure you realize this... But you've been gone for ten years now."

*X*X*X*

"How many times must I tell you, it has not been ten years!" Leela was growing more and more frustrated, the longer this interrogation went on.

The woman sitting across from her smiled condescendingly. "I appreciate your convictions, but I think if anyone knows how much time has passed between events, it would be us. We are Time Lords and you are merely a savage."

Leela scowled at her. "Then perhaps it has been ten years for you. But it has not been ten years for me!"

"Are you saying you were caught in a time distortion field?"

"I know nothing about your fields and your ships and your technology. I simply stepped into the Tardis there, and stepped out of it here."

"Only an hour or so later," the woman repeated.

"Yes!"

"And who was piloting the Tardis?"

"I told you, the Doctor."

"Not Coordinator Narvin?"

"Narvin was killed when he tried. The glowing light - the 'art-ron' energy killed him."

"But it didn't kill you?"

"That is a very stupid question since I am here, talking to you."

The woman shifted slightly, replaced her polite smile, and looked up again at Leela. "Did you, at any point, leave the Tardis? Before the time distortion, I mean. When you were aboard the Unknown Ship."

"Yes, of course."

"But only for an hour or so."

"I do not know how long it was. You should ask the Doctor; he always knows."

"And how did you end up on the Unknown Ship, exactly?"

"I told you, I do not know! I followed the Doctor through a teleport. Ask him how it worked!"

"We have."

Leela stared at her for a moment. "And what did he say?"

The woman touched a control on the side of the table, flipped through a few holographic images written in circles and lines, and stopped on a particular one. Leela frowned as the woman read it in a mocking tone. "We arrived on the command ship and located a portal that took us to the control center of the Unknown Ship."

"Yes, that is what happened," Leela said confidently.

"So now you know?"

"What?"

"Well, it's just that a moment ago, you didn't."

Leela's patience gave way to anger, and she rose from her chair, slapping her hands down on the table as she leaned across it. "Let me speak to President Romana," she growled angrily, "or I will cut out your tongue and feed it to you in pieces."


	5. Chapter Four - Demands

**A/N: Sorry that posting has been so irregular... Getting to the end of my pregnancy and having some complications that are taking a lot out of me. I certainly haven't forgotten about this book! Lol**

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**Demands**

The noise from outside the door wasn't just distracting, it was concerning. At least, as it grew in volume, it became that way. Someone was arguing with the guards - a female voice, from the bits and pieces Romana could hear. But she couldn't quite tell what the intruder wanted.

"Even with your authority in the matter being officially limited, you and I are the only figures the other temporal powers will deal with." Braxiatel was much better at ignoring the disruption than she was. "You'll still have to -"

"Excuse me, Chancellor." She stood with a sigh, and walked around her desk, toward the door. "This will only take a moment."

He looked over his shoulder at the doors as she approached them, but didn't leave his seat as she threw them open.

"What in the name of Rassilon is going on out here?" she demanded authoritatively, interrupting the commotion.

"Where is he?"

Romana blinked, startled and confused by the demand from the fiery eyed blonde in the hallway. But it was no surprise that she was the one causing a disturbance. Not that she made a habit of it. In fact, Romana hadn't seen or heard from Charley in almost a year now. But no Time Lord would have the audacity to walk up to the President's office and demand an audience.

"It's alright," she said to the guards, who were still on edge. She cast a glance over her shoulder again, at Braxiatel, and decided their conversation would have to wait. She smiled instead at Charley, as politely as she could manage. "Please. Come in."

"Where is he?" Charley demanded again as she stepped inside.

Romana sighed. It was not the first time they'd had this conversation, or one similar. "I'm sorry, Charley, but I don't know. No one has seen or heard from the Doctor in ten of our years. To the day, come to think of it."

"He's _back_," Charley growled. "And I want to see him. Now!"

Romana blinked, surprised. Unlike all of the times before, when Charley had been hoping against hope, there wasn't a shred of uncertainty in her tone this time. There was only anger, and determination.

"What do you mean he's back?" she asked, confused. "If he'd returned to Gallifrey, surely I would have heard about it."

"Then you'd better start asking some questions, because he's back! And I want to see him. So if you don't know where he is, then find out!"

Romana studied her for a moment before turning to Braxiatel. "Chancellor, I don't suppose you know anything about this?"

Braxiatel stood and set his empty glass on the desk before turning to her. "Nothing at all, Madame President," he answered smoothly. "Though I suspect I know someone who will. If you'll excuse me?"

He headed immediately for the door to find the answers she needed, leaving Romana to handle the angry human. Steeling herself, Romana put on her most reassuring smile. "Please, have a seat while Braxiatel looks into your claim. If there is any news on the Doctor, he will certainly find it."

"Find _him_, you mean," Charley corrected.

Romana sighed. "Would you care for a drink?"

"No, I don't want a drink." Her tone was full of venom and deeper, more powerful emotions she couldn't quite contain. Crossing her arms over her chest, she hugged herself tightly, fidgeting anxiously. "All I want is to see the Doctor."

"You and me, both," Romana muttered under her breath.

"You mean to tell me you didn't know?" Finally, Charley took a step further into the room, following Romana. "You're the _president_!"

Refreshing her drink, Romana sighed as she sat on the front edge of her desk, crossing her legs elegantly under her robes. "Sadly, that seems to mean little these days. I wouldn't be surprised if his return was being purposefully kept from me."

"Why?" Charley was doing her best to keep her anger bridled. "By whom?"

Romana waved her hand vaguely in the air. "Take your pick: Inquisitor Darkel, Coordinator Rodak, Commander Estron of the Chancellery Guard. As for why, your guess is as good as mine." She took a sip of her drink. "I might be able to narrow it down if you tell me where you got your information."

Charley scowled at her. Whatever trust had set down grass roots between the two of them at one time, it was long gone now. Romana didn't expect a detailed answer. She was surprised that she got one at all.

"A friend said he'd been arrested," Charley answered icily.

"Arrested?" Romana repeated with interest. "Did your friend say on what grounds?"

"No. But I'd very much like to ask that question, myself."

"Then it was probably the CIA. They require far less cause than the Chancellery Guard to make an arrest. And the acting coordinator seems to have a real problem with following advisement procedure besides." She sipped her drink and sighed deeply before finishing under her breath. "With friends like these, who needs enemies?"

"You _had _friends like the Doctor," Charley shot angrily, "before you decided to open fire on his ship."

Romana drew in a breath, and took another much-needed drink. She hated this conversation. She hated the number of times she'd had it with the Doctor's grieving wife. "He knew the risks when he left Gallifrey."

"What choice did he have? You'd locked us out of the Tardis, prevented us from going somewhere safe! Of course he was going to do everything he could to make sure the Daleks didn't invade Gallifrey."

"My hands were tied, Charley. If I'd had my way, you wouldn't have been forced to stay here."

"The funny thing is, he would've done it anyways. He would've helped you. Only he might not have taken such stupid risks if you had handled the situation a bit better!"

"I was under scrutiny by the High Council for even suggesting we call him for help."

"Then maybe you _shouldn't _have called him for help!" There were bitter, angry tears in her eyes. She wiped them away roughly as she regained her composure. "Look, I don't care, alright? I don't care about you, I don't care about Gallifrey, I don't care about why and how you did what you did, I just want him back."

Romana felt a stab of sympathy as she stared at the woman. She had lived so alone these past ten years, furious at Romana and unwilling to accept help even from those who wanted to offer her condolences. There hadn't been many. A human woman imprinted by a renegade Time Lord, even one so forgivable as the Doctor, was unfit even for the lowest caste of society. She had lived for ten long years in Modena's home, until she was mostly forgotten. She never came to the Capitol. She rarely walked the Citadel, for that matter, except to see her children at the Academy. They too, had suffered. But they were children. They were resilient. And the Doctor's popularity did, in fact, work in their favor.

"I know you've missed him, Charley," Romana said softly. "And I do, too. I do care about him, you know. Not to mention the people who went with him." She gave a short laugh as she considered it. "Even that imbecile, Narvin. I don't think I liked him any more than he liked me. But at least he was loyal. I'm not sure I could say the same of Coordinator Rodak."

Charley held her arms tightly across her chest. She was trying so hard not to cry. But she was failing. Finally, she took a quick breath. "Just get him back," she ordered, her voice shaking. "And when you do, then hang whatever bloody fool arrested him."

Romana nodded silently. Overcome with her anger and emotion, Charley turned and stormed out of the room quickly, before Romana or anyone else had a chance to see her cry.

*X*X*X*

"Coordinator Rodak, how many times do we have to go through this?" the Doctor asked impatiently.

"We will continue to go through this, as you put it, until I am certain I have all the facts."

"What facts?"

"You say that this ship was of Time Lord origin."

"_Is _of Time Lord origin. It's still out there somewhere."

"That is your opinion, and you've made it very clear."

"Listen to me." The Doctor leaned forward, his frustration growing. "If those torpedoes caused a time distortion field powerful enough to displace that ship, it's no wonder that we ended up getting thrown off course in the Vortex. But if I'm back, that ship will be too! This war is not over yet. The very _existence _of that ship is proof of it!"

"Except the ship is paradoxical."

"Exactly! It shouldn't exist, but here we are talking about it. That should tell you something."

The Coordinator gave him a patronizing smile. "Doctor, that ship has been destroyed."

"Displaced," the Doctor corrected. "Hardly destroyed."

"And you know this for a fact?"

"I felt the torpedoes hit, Coordinator; they barely scratched the paint."

"They weren't designed to scratch the paint. They were designed to create a temporal bubble around the ship to cut it off from the paradox it was sustaining."

The Doctor growled. "I understand how a time torpedo is supposed to work."

"Then understand this: It fulfilled that purpose brilliantly. The instant those torpedoes hit, all of the ships at the entrance to the CVE disappeared. Because Dalek technology cannot, nor will it ever, sustain that sort of paradox."

The Doctor stared at him, shaking his head slowly in disbelief. "You don't get it, do you? It's not Dalek technology! It's Time Lord technology! _Future _Time Lord technology!"

"The Web of Time has been repaired to compensate for the events of the Dalek Crisis. At some point in the future, that ship will most likely exist. But for the moment, it does not."

"And Davros? What about his command ship?"

"What indeed."

The coordinator's eyes narrowed at the Doctor. The Doctor stared back unflinching.

"Davros is the one piece of the puzzle we've not yet been able to place, Doctor. His ship not only made it across the plane gap, but seemed to know exactly where it was heading. In fact, it seemed to lead the fleet directly to us."

"Yes," the Doctor answered coldly. "I know. I talked to Davros."

"How do you suppose it gained access through the CVE?"

"You're coordinator of the CIA; you tell me."

"I would love to, Doctor, but we can present only hypothetical situations." He paused. "Unless, of course, you might help us by being a bit more forthcoming."

"I've been nothing but forthcoming! What is it you want me to say?"

"Tell us about your imprisonment by the Daleks, Doctor," he demanded abruptly.

The Doctor blinked in confusion. "What? The last time I was imprisoned by the Daleks was centuries ago."

"Are you sure about that?"

The Doctor's confusion turned to a scowl. "It's not something you forget easily."

Rodak sighed. "Doctor, let me make this a bit simpler. We already know that you've been with them for the past ten years."

"What!" The Doctor was beginning to have trouble containing his anger. "I told you, I was caught in a temporal distortion field when you -"

"We have a source that informs us you were forced to help them."

The Doctor stared for a moment, until his shock was again overcome by anger. "I didn't have time to help the Daleks if I'd _wanted _to do! I have already told you everything that happened since I left Gallifrey."

"Our information says otherwise."

"Your information is wrong."

"We don't think so."

"Where did you get it? The broken mind of a Dalek prisoner? Certainly not the most reliable source."

"But a grateful one."

"An _impressionable _one. If you're repairing brain damage, she's very much open to the power of suggestion, and you know it."

Rodak sighed. "Doctor, we are not interested in prosecuting you. Even if we were, that would be a job for the Valeyard. We want to know what happened, and planting suggestions into the mind of the Dalek prisoner will not aid us in that goal. We only wish to know, for the safety of Gallifrey, the extent of what you told them. We asked no less of Madame President Romana when she had returned after being imprisoned by the Daleks."

"Is that why you don't want me to see her?" he guessed. "You think I was a prisoner of the Daleks and want to make sure I'm fully debriefed before she and I sit down over a cup of tea and share horror stories?"

"Whatever you may have been forced to endure at the hands of the Daleks is hardly a matter of such flippancy. At least, we are not treating it that way. It was a tragedy. We want to help you."

"You ought to be more concerned about securing Gallifrey's safety."

"Oh, we are, Doctor. And if we know the manner in which you helped the Daleks, we can try to prevent them from using that knowledge to repeat the events at a future point."

The Doctor dropped his head forward, shaking it. It seemed nothing he was saying was actually getting through.

"It's nothing personal, Doctor. We don't wish to vilify you any more than we did the Madame President when she returned after her captivity. We just need to know exactly what happened. For the safety of Gallifrey, it is very important."

"You know," the Doctor finally said in sincere awe, "I've dealt with a lot of Time Lords who couldn't see the forest for all the complicated, prefabricated details of the trees. But you, Coordinator Rodak, are _phenomenally _stupid if you think that I could spend ten years as a prisoner of the Daleks and be sitting across from you having this conversation."

"A very good point." Undeterred, the man smiled patiently as he leaned forward, eyes fixed on his target. "So tell us how you managed to stay so healthy."

The Doctor was still deciding whether or not to dignify that with an answer when the door swung open. "That's quite enough, Coordinator."

The Doctor breathed a sigh of relief. "Braxiatel. I never thought I would be so glad to see you."

"The feeling is mutual," Braxiatel answered coolly. "The Madame President wishes to speak with you."

Rodak remained silent, jaw clenched as the Doctor stood and walked around him, toward the door. As he stepped out into the hallway, he saw a flustered and angry Leela waiting, arms crossed. Behind him, he just barely caught the low tone of the High Chancellor's words to Rodak.

"And you had better have a very good reason for keeping his arrival a secret. President Romana would very much like to hear it."


	6. Chapter Five - The Solidified Paradox

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**The Solidified Paradox**

The Doctor looked exhausted, his jaw tight and his hands covered in dried blood. It was the first thing Romana noticed, and it caught her slightly off guard. The Daleks didn't bleed; not like that. But he appeared uninjured. She noticed Leela a moment later, a step behind him, her skin red and burned. But she was not bloody, either. That left only one possibility that she could immediately offer: the man who was not with them.

"Where is Narvin?" Romana asked.

"Dead," the Doctor said, his glare just as cold as his tone. "Hello, Romana. Hello, K-9."

"Master!"

Romana took the news of Narvin's death without a great deal of reflection. She would afford him that later, when there was time. Right now, she had other questions.

"Doctor, Leela, what happened to you?" Romana demanded, rising to greet them. "Where have you been?"

"Detained by the CIA," Braxiatel informed. He exchanged glances with Romana before finishing. "Coordinator Rodak sends his sincerest apologies for the lack of communication."

"He is not sorry," Leela said angrily. "He knew we wanted to see you and he refused."

"Oh, I don't doubt it." She studied Leela and the Doctor for a moment, her hearts clenching at the sight of her friends. "But what I meant was, where have you been for the last ten years?"

"Well, funny thing, Romana."

She could tell immediately by the tone that the Doctor was edgy. Hostile, even. And it was no wonder, if he'd been greeted with guns and handcuffs. He would never react kindly to that sort of treatment. He was full of nervous energy, and keen to take it out on her. She braced herself.

"You see, we were innocently minding our own business when all of a sudden, the ship we were on was blasted with time torpedoes. Narvin got us safely into the Vortex before he died, and as soon as we could, we returned to Gallifrey. But it appears we got caught in a pocket of time distortion along the way. It's really interesting how that happens when you start firing temporal displacement weapons in someone's general direction."

Even though she'd been prepared, the hostility caught her off guard for a moment. More than that, the implication of his words startled her. "A pocket of time distortion?" she repeated. "You mean... it hasn't been ten years for you?"

"Not even ten hours."

She didn't know what to say. Thankfully, Braxiatel was ready with the explanation the Doctor seemed to be waiting for. "We received a signal from the ship and saw the shields had come down," he explained. "Given that you had left Gallifrey to procure some sort of advantage, we assumed we had you to thank. We took our opportunity."

"So you decided to _shoot _at it?" the Doctor snapped, raising his voice in anger. He fixed his eyes on Braxiatel, hard and cold. "What possessed you to think that firing upon something we were calling 'the Unknown Ship' was a good idea?"

"We were unable to decipher the signal that was coming from the ship and did not want to take the chance it would disappear again."

"When you directly interacted with that ship, it became a fixed event. You solidified a paradox into existence!"

Romana slumped forward in her chair, burying her face in her hands at the shouting match that was rising up in her office.

"What, precisely, would you have expected us to do in that situation, Doctor?"

"How about _not _temporally displacing a paradoxical ship!"

"We did not have the luxury of sitting back and waiting for you to save the day," Braxiatel said with clear distaste. "The Daleks were threatening Gallifrey; we did what was necessary."

"The Daleks were biding their time," the Doctor growled back. "Because they knew with that technology - that ship you _think_ you destroyed - all they had to do was walk right up to the transduction barrier and knock."

"_Stop _it!" Romana interrupted authoritatively. "Both of you!"

Both men turned, the Doctor clearly angry and Braxiatel purely impassive, and waited for her to continue. She took a deep breath before continuing calmly. "Doctor, I am sorry," she said sincerely. "I've thought many times over these past ten years that we should not have fired upon that ship. But it seemed our best option at the time."

The Doctor set his jaw as he took a slight step closer. But he waited until he was certain he could maintain an even tone before he spoke again. "This is a time war, Romana. Do you realize that? This isn't an invasion, or a crisis. It's a time war. That's future Time Lord technology you fired at!"

"We are fully aware of the paradoxical nature of that ship," Romana answered. "But all we are able to do at the present time is to repair the obvious damage done to the Web of Time, and prepare for the day in which that ship actually originated."

"Repair the damage! The fact that you're making repairs in the first place is reliant upon the fact that there was a paradox to create the damage!"

"Yes, Doctor, I did pass my paradoxical science courses. With higher marks than you, I might add."

"Fine. Good. So just what are you trying to repair?"

"We've been searching for the zero point," Braxiatel said.

"The zero point?"

"Zero point," K-9 interjected. "The moment at which the initial event of a paradoxical equation is conceived, before it is carried out."

"Thank you, K-9," the Doctor said dryly. "I'm familiar with the term. I'm just not sure why you'd be looking for it. Particularly since every step along the path to finding it reinforces the paradox!"

"If we can find the zero point," Romana explained, "there is a strong possibility that we can correct the timeline such that all of this is only a faint memory in the Matrix."

The Doctor stared at her, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. For a long moment, the silence in the room was so thick that none of them dared breathe for fear of breaking it.

"You're talking about rewriting time, altering an entire chain of fixed points," the Doctor finally whispered in awe. "Do we have the right to do that?"

"If we are truly facing a time war, Doctor," Braxiatel replied, "then the normal rules of conduct have been suspended."

"What you're talking about is the very definition of a time war," the Doctor said, still struggling through his shock. He shifted his focus to Braxiatel, directing his question at him instead of Romana. "You're actually prepared to willfully and knowingly instigate this?"

"I think you'll find the Daleks were the ones to instigate."

"The Daleks are not responsible for maintaining temporal order in the universe."

"And you, Doctor, lost the right to lecture anyone about the laws of time long ago."

The Doctor growled as he took a step closer. "I was on that ship, Braxiatel. I was on both of them - the Unknown Ship _and _the one that had crossed onto our plane. I lost track of the number of paradoxes I encountered within the first three minutes!"

"Your point?"

"Solidifying the existence of those ships - either one of them - in our current time is paramount in and of itself to a declaration of war. Searching for the point of origin is even more so!"

"Again, the Daleks have already made that declaration."

"And they've been dealt with - for better or worse. So leave it _alone_."

"And do nothing?" Braxiatel asked with amusement.

"Anything you do to the Web of Time at this point is only going to make things worse."

"And doing nothing only ensures that at a future point, the Daleks will return and slaughter us all. Particularly if they've had _help_ from a Time Lord to cross the plane gap. One who could, quite possibly, disable the transduction barrier."

"What the _hell _is that supposed to mean!"

"You tell me."

"Oh, will you two please stop," Romana interrupted with a sigh. "Doctor, nobody here is accusing you of anything. And perhaps you're right. Firing upon that ship may have been the very worst thing we could have done."

"No. Continuing down this path, instigating a war, _that's _the worst thing you could've done."

"And what would you have me do instead?"

"Well, the first thing you could do would be to send your lap dog," he nodded to Braxiatel, "to find that Dalek prisoner Narvin saved inside the Tardis."

"Prisoner?" Romana asked, startled.

"A female prisoner of the Daleks was found in the Tardis. Your new CIA Coordinator let it slip."

"Did he, now?" Romana said coolly, eyes narrowed. "Yet another thing that he failed to report. Braxiatel?"

Braxiatel's eyes had not left the Doctor. Jaw tight, he glared at him as if he might somehow manage to bore holes in his skull if he just tried hard enough. Reluctantly, he turned his attention to Romana. "I'll see what the med-techs have to report on this Dalek prisoner," he finally said. "Since I'm quite sure Rodak has nothing at all to contribute."

"Thank you, Chancellor."

He nodded formally to Romana, exchanged a heated glare with the Doctor, and exited the room without another word.

"Doctor, I take your point about the danger of solidifying the paradox," she continued, looking up at him. "But what would you have us do? Doing nothing is not an option and if we did, indeed, create a paradox by firing on that ship, the responsible thing to do would be to repair it."

"If repairing it means instigating a time war, I suggest you leave well enough alone."

"And do _what_?"

"Does the word 'endgame' mean anything to you?"

"I've played my fair share of chess, Doctor. I am well acquainted with the word." She frowned. "I hope you're not implying we've reached it."

"No, I don't think it's as simple as that. K-9?"

"Master?"

"What about you? Do you know anything about a ship or a project Endgame? A CIA project, I suspect."

"My database does not cross reference with the CIA knowledge bank."

"Anything, K-9. Anything about Endgame."

"Searching."

The robot dog's ears turned back and forth as it worked. The Doctor headed for the table in the corner to pour a drink, not waiting for an invitation.

"Negative. The word is unknown except in definition."

"Why do you ask?" Romana finally questioned.

"It was Narvin's last words, before he died." He turned back to her and took a drink. "And he went through an awful lot of trouble to say it. He wanted you to know."

"I'll check the Matrix, but I doubt I'll find anything. The CIA does not exactly share information freely."

The Doctor was quiet for a moment, staring into his glass. Romana's brow furrowed as she watched him.

"What did you find on the ship itself?" she finally asked.

He took a long moment to reply, finishing his drink in one big gulp. "I found a lot of things that I never should have seen."

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"The ship is paradoxical," he answered plainly, pouring another drink before he moved away from the table. "I've seen the future of Gallifrey. Several futures, in fact, coexisting in that one fleet."

"You're certain?"

"Davros was definitely from a different point in time than the Unknown Ship. I'd be interested to see which the prisoner comes from."

"You saw Davros, then?"

"Yes. Mad, as ever."

Romana watched him for a long moment, but he said nothing more. He was distant, caught in his own little world. He took a breath, drank again, and turned to walk toward the window, looking out at the Citadel with a faraway gaze. Romana realized very suddenly that Leela had been very quiet. In fact, she'd never seen her so quiet. She turned to locate her, but didn't quite manage to call her name before she found her, slumped in a chair.

"Tired, is she?" Romana asked with a knowing smile.

"She's injured," the Doctor answered flatly.

Romana blinked, surprised and almost immediately worried. "Injured? How so?"

"Her burns." Not turning to look at either of them, the Doctor kept his voice monotone. "We were caught in a holding cell for harmonic energy. It was being transmitted from the Unknown Ship to Davros' control center." He took another drink before looking over his shoulder at as Romana stared at him in shock. "I wanted to cross-convert the symbiotic molecular relay into a transmat. But I only had enough time to trace the coordinates. We programmed them into the teleport we had with us. It's how we got onboard the Unknown Ship."

Romana's jaw was dropped. "Caught in a holding cell for harmonic energy?" she repeated. "How long were you in there?"

"Long enough."

Romana placed a hand on Leela's forehead, pulling it away quickly with a slight flinch. "Rassilon! She's burning from the inside out. Why didn't they provide her medical treatment when they detained you?"

"They had other things on their minds, apparently."

Leela awoke suddenly, and blinked for a moment in confusion before she winced in pain. "Come on," Romana ordered. "You need medical treatment."

"Oh." Slightly disoriented from her nap, Leela stood shakily. "No. No, I am fine. It is only a sunburn."

Romana smiled in spite of herself. "It's not just a sunburn, Leela. Come on. I'll accompany you to the treatment center. I have a feeling our prisoner will be there, too."

Offering one arm to support Leela, Romana used the other to open the door and cast a questioning glance at the man still standing by the window. "Are you coming, Doctor? If you were both caught in there, you probably need looking after, too."

He hesitated a moment. "It can wait," he declared as he finished his drink and turned to follow them. "There's something else I have to do first."

*X*X*X*

He wouldn't have knocked, ordinarily. But these were special circumstances. He hadn't been here in ten years. His sudden appearance would be enough to startle anyone. Standing outside the door of a prison he knew all too well - bigger on the inside but always too small to hold him - he took a deep breath before he rapped his fingers on the cool surface and waited.

A moment later, the door opened. Modena's look of confusion turned to one of pure shock as she saw him standing there, on her front porch. "Doctor!" she managed, barely a whisper. "We were told you were..."

He didn't flinch, and his gaze didn't waver as he looked at her, standing straighter. Then he spoke, clear and calm and perfectly flat. "Where is my wife?"


	7. Chapter Six - Reunited

**CHAPTER SIX**

**Reunited**

Charley didn't hear the door open. She didn't hear the voices in the living room that was as much hers now as Modena's. Lost in the desperate sound of the blaring music as she cleaned (again), she didn't hear anything. Her bedroom was not dirty. But if she didn't keep her hands moving, if she didn't keep her mind lost in the sound that was very nearly deafening her, she knew she would end up curled in a ball on that bed, crying and waiting. And she'd done enough of that over the years. She'd learned that it was a very bad idea to acknowledge the tears, let alone indulge herself in them.

The first indication that she wasn't alone came in the sudden silence as the control panel on the wall stopped the music suddenly. She spun so fast she nearly tripped over her own two feet, and stood silent, gaping, as her eyes came to rest on the intruder. For a moment, she couldn't speak. Alive. He was alive and he was standing right in front of her. She'd known he was alive. She'd heard he was back. But was it really him? Or was she hallucinating? Again...

She took a slow step forward. "Doctor?"

He didn't speak. He only watched her with a dark, intense look as she blindly set her dust rag on the desk, never taking her eyes off of him. She suddenly realized she was trembling, and her voice shook as she managed in a choked whisper, "I knew you'd come back."

He closed the door, taking a step further into the room. She wanted to say more. She wanted to tell him how much she'd missed him, that she'd never lost hope. But she was lost, paralyzed by her emotions. All at once, she wanted to scream in anger and laugh and cry with joy and sob with relief that ten years of loneliness and uncertainty were finally at an end.

As if her own feelings weren't enough, the intensity of his stare would have made even the bravest soul catch their breath. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd seen that look in his eyes. Dark and intense, a myriad of emotion coupled with dangerous power. It was at once the most exciting and terrifying thing she'd ever seen. Need and relief and anger and desperation and hunger and lust and worry and pain. It was pure, unbridled emotion - everything he was, everything he had ever been, intensified a hundred fold. It was like staring into the face of a god. He could've crushed her in that moment by force of will alone.

She took another step toward him and reached out a hand, almost involuntarily. The moment her fingers touched the warm leather of his jacket, the smoldering fire in his eyes ignited. She didn't even see him move. He was simply _there_. She gasped as his fist tightened in her hair, pulling her head back and claiming her mouth in a possessive kiss. The jolt of adrenaline that shot through her made her eyes water, and her hands tremble. He was real. He was there, and real, hard and solid against her, holding her tightly against him as if she were the most precious thing in the entire universe.

She wrapped her arms around his torso, standing on her toes to meet his kiss with force. She could feel the hot, involuntary tears on her cheeks, the pressure valve to release the emotion that was too much to cope with. Still kissing her like his life depended on it, he let go of her hair and rolled his shoulders, letting his jacket fall into her clenched hands. Then, in a blur, he was stripping her shirt over her head, writhing out of his own. She moved without thought to lift it, dropping it somewhere on the floor as they came together again - skin against skin, passionate and desperate.

He turned, and her back hit the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of her lungs. Finally, she broke their kiss to gasp in much needed air, panting as she arched her back, trying to get closer to him. Closer. She had to be closer. Every muscle in her body was tight, hands shaking as she searched his torso for new scars, nails raking over his skin. He was alive, and he was safe, and he was home.

Her hands moved to his shoulders for balance as he lifted her, making her more easily accessible. There was nothing gentle in the searing kisses he placed along her jaw, down the side of her neck, teeth scraping soft flesh. The muscles in his shoulders were tight, and he gave a growling sigh through his teeth as her nails dug in deep. In that moment, there was nothing in the universe but him. His mouth on hers, his hands reclaiming her, bringing her back to life. Unable to think for the shock of adrenaline and passion and sheer emotion, she clung to him, sobbing breathlessly as he ground his hips into hers. Her body was singing for him already, dry kindling touched by his flame. All she could do was burn...

Rough, demanding hands found the front of her slacks, ripping at them and shoving them down before he turned and pushed her back onto the bed. There were no words, no thought. Not even a sound except for the creak of the bed frame and their panting, labored breathing. He fell with her, on top of her, a tangle of limbs and clothes and kisses. She reached down between them, ripping at the button and the zipper of his jeans, struggling to push them down. She was gulping air, and she could hear him doing the same as his teeth scraped the pulse point of her neck.

Holding her hair again, he pulled her to him hard, crushing her lips with his. She whimpered with need, writhing and pressing up against him. Skin on skin, tense and tight. She held his hip with the nails of one hand and used the other to close around him firmly. She could feel every beat of his two hearts, sending blood rushing past her fingers, pulsing beneath the silky skin. His bruising kiss held her still as he cupped both hands over her breasts. He owned them, too. He owned all of her, and right now she _lived _to touch him and be touched by him.

His thighs pushed hers apart. His hips were moving against her hand, his teeth holding her neck again. A low and animalistic sound escaped him, and he pressed his mouth to her ear.

"Let go," he ordered, hissing through his teeth. "Put your legs around me."

Heart pounding. Wet with need. Desperate for air and for more of him. She obeyed without thought, her eyes rolling back as she listened to the deafening sound of his ragged breathing, hot and heavy in her ear. And then, suddenly, he was inside of her. Their bodies came together with such force, she nearly screamed at the intensity of the pain and pleasure. Ten years of solitude were broken in one world-shattering moment, and she sobbed, shaking, as she arched into him.

He found her hands, pinning them on either side of her head, locking their fingers together and squeezing tight. He kissed her. She moaned. Tightening her legs around him, her body matched his rhythm, pressing up to meet his deep, forceful thrusts.

The sensation was dizzying - skin on skin, passion and response, desperation and need. He was inside of her, filling her, completing her again. Together they were so much more than either of them were apart. Together, they were one. Together, they were unbreakable, unstoppable, unconquerable. Together, they feared nothing.

He pulled back just enough to look down at her, the smoldering, intense look in his eyes now a blazing fire. The sound of his breathing and hers was deafeningly loud. The headboard of the bed was rocking against the wall. With every violent thrust, a tight sound escaped his throat. And he watched her. Hips pounding, pulse racing, blood screaming in her ears, clinging and tightening and writhing until finally...

Her eyes rolled back as her muscles tightened on their own and she bucked hard against him. Pleasure shot through her, outward from her womb to every corner of her body. She shook violently, and cried out for him as he buried himself deep one last time with a primal sound that came from somewhere he normally dared not go. She could feel him coming inside of her, and it went on forever and ever... filling her, touching her, marking her. She had suffered so much scorn for this moment of pleasure. And it was worth every single insult she had endured.

Almost as quickly as it started, it stopped. Her body fell limp, legs and arms trembling, still loosely wrapped around him. He'd dropped his head against her shoulder, and she could hear his ragged breathing as he came down slowly. His skin was hot against hers - much warmer than she remembered - and he was sweating. Of course, so was she. She could feel it gathering at the back of her neck.

"I knew you'd come back," she whispered again, this time with a lazy smile as she buried a hand in his hair. Her mind was a tangled mess of bliss and endorphins and hormones. She had known, and she was right. He would always come back for her...

With a shaky but deep breath, he moved lower, resting his head on her chest. Still holding his hair, she closed her eyes and relaxed. In the stillness that followed, the uneven breathing that gradually slowed, he held her, and she held him. It was not until several minutes later that she realized there were hot tears falling on her chest.

Alarmed, she blinked a few times. "Doctor, are you alright?"

He didn't answer, only drew in a ragged breath, and shook as he let it out. Swallowing hard, she loosened her grip to stroke his hair gently. Confused by the sudden turn and unsure how to respond, she simply followed her instincts. "Shh... Doctor..."

More tears fell, and she wrapped an arm around his shoulders protectively. He cried silently and then, gradually, not so silently. Instinct took hold as he clung to her, tighter and tighter, muscles clenching as if he could somehow make himself disappear if he just made himself small enough. He shook, and he sobbed.

In all the years she had known him, all the horrors he had lived through, all the trauma he had endured, all the emotion and the passion she had seen in him, she had never once seen him cry. Not like this. Not this shaking, sobbing, gut-wrenching cry. He didn't care if he was heard, he didn't care what anyone thought. He simply wept, from the deepest part of his soul. He was in pain, in a way she'd never seen before and didn't understand. And her only thought was to shelter him.

"It's okay," she whispered softly, scratching her fingers lightly over his scalp, through his hair. "You're safe now."

Tears of her own began to fall again, her heart ripping apart at the sight of him so broken. Her stomach twisted into knots as she pondered what could bring him to his knees like this. He'd endured so much and never flinched. What could he have possibly seen, what could he have possibly lived through to make him weep like this? There were no new scars that she could see. He was still alive. In fact, his body was remarkably undamaged for ten years of wear - at least in the way he tended to wear the years.

Anger began to rise in her: anger toward the Time Lords for bringing and trapping them here, forcing him to help; anger toward Romana for giving the okay to blow up the ship he was on; anger toward the Daleks and whoever had hurt him so deeply to bring him to this state. She took a deep breath, tamping it down, focusing on the sobbing, broken man in her arms.

"Shh... It's okay now..."

She wasn't sure how long it was before he quieted. Minutes passed - ten or maybe twenty. They sank into silence, calm and safe. He was real; he was really here. She was sure of that now. She didn't know where he'd been, or what he'd seen, but he was here now, and he was safe. That was all that mattered.

Finally, his breathing evened out. His weight settled as the stress left his body. For a moment, she thought he might be asleep. But then she felt the flutter of his eyelashes on her skin, and he nuzzled her gently, hugging her again.

"Talk to me," she whispered. "What happened? What did you see?"

"I can't," he whispered back, choking on his words. "Charley, I can't."

She stroked his hair again. "Doctor, you can tell me anything. You know that."

"No, Charley." She felt him shudder slightly - a silent sob - and he held her tighter. "I can't. Charley, I can't. I'm sorry."

She closed her eyes and sighed softly to herself as she shushed him again. There would be time for explanations later. Right now, it was enough to have him in her arms as he slowly, silently drifted off to sleep.


	8. Chapter Seven - Tensions

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**Tensions**

"Meanwhile, tensions over the security measures implemented by Madame President Romana continue to increase as a formal inquiry was announced to take place later this week. With approval ratings slowly staggering downward, it is expected that President Romana will use the opportunity to more fully explain and bolster confidence in her continued efforts to protect Gallifrey in the wake of the Dalek Crisis, ten years ago."

"Oh, turn it off, K-9," Romana muttered, holding her head in her hand.

"Mistress!"

As the transmission ceased, Romana sighed. "Even the media has stopped choosing their words carefully."

"Mistress?"

"The Dalek Crisis of _ten years ago_," she repeated. "Nobody wants to acknowledge that the crisis isn't over."

"The continued threat posed by the Daleks is unknown. The term 'crisis' implies a particular point or event in state, or an impending abrupt or decisive change."

"It'll be pretty abrupt and decisive when the Daleks invade again," Romana answered dryly.

"Suggest increased military preparedness and open communication with allied powers in preparation for upcoming invasion."

"Oh, I know all that," she said with a half-smile. Leave it to K-9 to point out the painfully obvious. "Believe me, I'm not about to take this lying down. But if what the Visionary said was true..."

She sighed again and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"Sometimes I wish I could simply erase that day from my memory," she admitted. She sighed deeply as she turned and gazed out the window at the first sunset. How long would it be before that beautiful sky was filled with enemy ships? And did she really want to know... "There is a reason why we're not supposed to know about future events. It's so difficult to move from day to day knowing where they all end up in the end."

The knock at the door made her turn, and she took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts before she answered. "Yes, come in."

"The medical reports you requested on the Dalek prisoner are uploaded and formatted for access by your K-9 unit," Braxiatel announced as he entered the room and walked straight to Romana's desk, setting a small drive down without making eye contact. His tone was clipped and his voice tight, posture impeccably straight as he continued.

"The latest reports from the Energy Tracking Center show no abnormal fluctuations, as usual, and there are three letters of correspondence from the Nekkestani Prime Minister which really should be attended. He gets a bit tetchy when he feels he's being ignored. Have a good evening, Madame President."

Without waiting for a response, he turned away. Romana sighed as she leaned forward, holding her head in her hands. "Braxiatel, wait," she called, stopping him when he was nearly to the door. He hadn't even bothered to shut it when he'd come in, proof of how quickly he'd intended to resolve the day's business.

He turned, and raised a brow, wearing an otherwise blank expression. "Yes, Madame President?"

"Is this about the Doctor?"

He frowned. "I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific. Is whatabout the Doctor?"

"Do me the courtesy of acknowledging that you're angry, and I'll do you the courtesy of listening to your reasons why. Deal?"

He studied her for a moment, then turned away again, crossing the two more steps to the door and closing it quietly before he looked back at her with cool eyes. "Simply put, Madame President, I'm beginning to wonder if your relationship with the Doctor is truly as benign as it once seemed."

She sat straighter in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. "Why the sudden change of opinion?"

"Do you listen to yourself when he's around?" Braxiatel challenged. He took a step closer, lowering his voice and speaking very clearly. "When he speaks, you treat him as if you are still his protégé, as if his word is not to be questioned."

Her frown deepened. "I assure you that I do not, and apologize if it seems that way."

"It does very much seem that way, Madame President."

"Then clearly you are perceiving something I'm not. Perhaps you'd like to enlighten me?"

"I told you years ago about the dangers of your decision to trace the Unknown Ship. I warned you about the further damage that might be done, about the implications of any act of time manipulation within the context of the Dalek Crisis. I told you that you were declaring war."

"So you did," she agreed, studying him coolly.

"I consider my warning a prime example of the fact that while any advice I offer will be taken into consideration, I expect that you will accept and reject that advice as you see fit. But even I, as your senior advisor, do not expect you to take it at face value."

"I'm glad to hear it," she answered. "But what does that have to do with the Doctor?"

"Because you don't afford him that consideration, Romana. You don't even think when he's around; you let him think for you. And that is a very dangerous attitude for the President of Gallifrey to take with anyone. Let alone a renegade."

"I trust him, Braxiatel," she answered, her jaw tight. "Just as I trust you. In neither case is that trust blind."

"Isn't it? Perhaps now it's you who is perceiving something I'm not."

She frowned. "The Doctor has proven himself over and over again. Regardless of the Council's interpretation of events, or anything the Visionary may or may not have said, he is the single most reliable force that Gallifrey has to stand on - especially against the Daleks."

"The only one who can save us, no doubt," Braxiatel answered distastefully.

"If it comes to that, I honestly wouldn't be surprised."

"Forgive me, Madame President," Braxiatel answered icily, "I thought that was your role. You are, after all, the president."

Her eyes narrowed. "Tread lightly, Braxiatel," she warned. "My responsibility to Gallifrey is the only reason I even considered contacting the Doctor for help in the first place. I've not at all forgotten it."

"Given the nature of the Visionary's prophecy, that is a questionable statement."

"Oh, don't you dare drill me. I'm not defending my decision; we both know you supported me in it. And we both know that my trust in him is not unfounded."

"That you trust him is obvious, and hardly the issue. The Council considers him a threat and your trust in him a danger. I have long considered him merely a nuisance."

"And that nuisance may well be our best chance of surviving this Crisis."

"And so you trust him blindly!" Braxiatel shot back, his anger beginning to show through the calm control that he wore like a second skin. "And that, Madame President, is precisely where I take issue. Because I have put far too much time and effort into securing Gallifrey's future to stand by and watch you take orders like a dog, no matter how noble you consider your master."

Genuinely stunned by his audacity, it took a moment for Romana to put her anger into words. "_You _have put in too much time and effort?" she cried. "You aren't the one under constant scrutiny, in spite of continued evidence that you have only the best interests of Gallifrey and her people in mind."

"You've made your own reputation, Romana. And frankly, you were warned. If you had listened to me as readily as you've listened to him, you might have avoided these problems altogether."

"Is that jealousy I hear?"

"I assure you, it is pure disgust."

She glared. "I am well aware that my personal relationship with the Doctor - whatever it may be or once was - is a constant thorn in the side of the High Council. But I am not going to let that stop me from seeking the best course of action for our continued security and survival."

"Then _seek_ it, Madame President," he said low. "Don't eat it out of his hand. Because I take no issue with the Doctor as a so-called savior, if that makes you feel more at ease. But the Council will gladly _crucify _you at the upcoming inquiry if they even suspect that you changed your mind on the last ten years worth of work and policy - on tasks you were warned and challenged about from the very start - because the Doctor showed up again and said it was a bad idea."

"The Council seeks to crucify me on far lesser charges than that. Perhaps you could throw in a word or two about the great threat the Doctor poses and help their case along."

Braxiatel stepped forward and leaned on the desk, closer to her and very nearly breaking the boundary of her personal space. "If I considered the Doctor to be any threat at all to Gallifrey," he said coldly, "you can be assured that he would never set foot on this planet again. And no one, not even you, would bring him back again."

Romana blinked, startled by his tone, his posture, and the fire in his eyes. Open confrontation was not Braxiatel's style. She had never seen him show anger, and _certainly _never towards her, in all the years she had known him.

"If I didn't know better, Chancellor, I might think that you're threatening me," she said with genuine uncertainty.

"Never, Madame President," he said low, but calmer now. He moved back slightly. "If you recall, I was the one who put you in your position. I would never have done so if I couldn't respect you in it."

Romana's anger flared as she realized what she was hearing and she stalked slowly around her desk. "You condescending bastard," she snarled at him. "Whatever part you had to play in my election was recast ages ago. _I_ was the one who appointed _you _to a position of any power at all and I can strip that power from you just as easily."

"You may have some difficulty securing the consent of a Council who, by your own admission, doesn't trust you anymore."

Romana straightened and narrowed her eyes. "Your opinion on this matter has been duly noted, Chancellor," she said tightly. "Now get the hell out of my office."

"And your allegiances have also been duly noted, Madame President."

Then he turned, and stormed out of her office, slamming the door behind him.

*X*X*X*

Darkel looked up at the knock on her door. She had a smile ready even before she answered. "Enter."

The man who poked his head inside her office was little more than a boy, fresh out of the Academy with monumental plans and ideas. A relatively clean slate but for the basic principles and core beliefs that had been written into his Academy curriculum. He was a goal-driven idealist, with a look of fear in his eyes, left over from the horrific realization that his chosen profession as a journalist was bound to expose him to the darker side of life. Even his choice to remain on Gallifrey, sheltered from the evils of the universe, to write "fluff" pieces and documentaries on topics he thought would surely be light and happy, if educational - in even this, he found himself confronted by the real world. His idealistic outlook on life had been crumbling to the ground ever since.

"Inquisitor Darkel," he greeted, a bit haltingly. "I was told you wanted to see me."

"Yes," she answered him with a reassuring smile. "Please, come in."

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, taking a noticeably deep breath before approaching her desk. Her perfectly constructed smile remained in place as she gestured for him to take a seat.

"Thank you," he said gratefully, feeling a bit less like a schoolboy called to the headmaster's office, no doubt.

"I wanted to discuss the matter of concern you recently brought to my attention."

He nodded slowly and answered hesitantly. "With all due respect, Madame Inquisitor, I'm not sure what you mean. As a member of the High Council, the Visionary's words were no doubt known to you before I came across them."

She hesitated. Nervous though he may be at the opening of pandora's box, he wasn't stupid. Nor was he lacking the boldness or the grace to properly address his concerns.

"Be that as it may, his words clearly caused you distress," she said congenially. "That fact alone has caused me to rethink the handling of the situation so that it may properly be addressed."

"And by 'the handling of the situation', you mean cancelling my broadcast."

"I'm afraid that was the decision of the High Chancellor, not my own."

"And if the High Chancellor and, I assume, the Madame President don't want this report to be made public, what is it that you are suggesting _you _can do to remedy the problem?"

"Well, you clearly expected me to do something when you approached me initially."

"I wanted an interview," he corrected. "An explanation to give to the people. You gave me neither."

"You will have both." Darkel smiled again. "And a very public forum in which to share your report on the Visionary, and your feelings regarding both President Romana and the Doctor."

Lord Garent stared at her for a long moment, as if considering her words. Finally, he nodded ever so slightly, brow furrowed as if in wary concentration. "Alright," he said cautiously. "I'm listening."


	9. Chapter Eight - Decision

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**Decision**

"I missed you."

The soft sound of Charley's voice was comforting in the quiet stillness of pre-dawn. There were no windows in this house, but he could tell instinctively that the sun was just below the horizon. He could almost feel the warmth of its rays streaking out across the sky. Charley's fingers were raking slowly through his hair, like a mother soothing her child. He'd never had that experience when he'd been a child. He was surprised to find how much he craved it now. A moment of weakness, of reliance upon someone else to make the decisions and provide the protection.

Lying here in the safety of her arms while she had slept with a peaceful smile on her lips, all that he had seen and done was slowly becoming real to him. He was used to facing evil, to challenging and even taunting it. Facing the Daleks was nothing new; he had done it in every incarnation. He never thought about it, in the heat of the moment. He never allowed himself to do. It would have been impossible to stare evil in the face if he actually gave himself time to think about what he was looking at. It would have been impossible to stand in a room with it and not shield his eyes, or at least flinch. It would have been impossible not to feel fear, to consider death, to expect it. Even welcome it...

"They told us you were dead," Charley whispered. He blinked slowly as her nails scratched lightly over his scalp. He couldn't see her face; his head was resting on her chest. But he could hear the soft smile in her voice. "That you'd died a hero, protecting Gallifrey. You should hear the stories they've told about you."

He breathed in deep, the soft scent of her and the familiarity of a home he'd left behind long ago. He'd grown up in this room - a prisoner for the first seven years of his life. In all those years, all those conversations with imaginary friends, all the reading and learning and daydreaming, he had never imagined this. He'd wanted to run, and to never look back. He would have never thought that he'd one day return, or that he'd find this place, this prison, a comforting and safe place. Nuzzling against Charley, he let his eyes slide closed.

"It's hard to believe that these are the same people who exiled you, who put you on trial for genocide." Her thumb rubbed softly against the back of his neck, easing away the tension from muscles he hadn't even realized were so tight. "I think I understand now what you meant, when you said the Time Lords are a finicky people. They put you on a pedestal when it suits them, and in a stockade when it doesn't."

He opened his eyes again, and sighed softly as he stared at the wall in front of him. It was easier than staring into the darkness when his eyes were closed. There were images in that darkness, things he didn't want to see. The Daleks, and Davros. The visions he'd painted of a world destroyed, over and over again. And that horrible, dark part of him - the part that he never wanted to admit existed - wondered if he'd been the one to cause it. Never intentionally, he was sure. He could never commit genocide - and certainly not on his own people - with any sort of intent or, heaven forbid, malice. But a mercy killing? Was he capable of that? Did he even want to think of how horrible life must have been, if he would've been the one to do it? He felt the bile rising up in his throat again, and he shut his eyes tight as they burned.

"The media was the worst. They ran stories about you; half of them weren't even true. They made you into a hero. Well..." She paused, and laughed softly. "I suppose you always were a hero. But not in the way they described. Time's Champion, they call you."

He winced involuntarily.

"When you died, you became the champion for every popular movement that struck their fancy. And that's to say nothing of the politics."

He breathed again, and let out a shuddering sigh. Charley hugged him tighter, for just a moment. Just enough to break his concentration on the horrors he didn't want to think about. What he was, what he might become. What he might have done, in another timeline. Or maybe even in this one...

"Romana made a speech. She didn't mention you at first. She's... careful about that, I think. She doesn't want them to know how much you've really done for them. But the people were..." Charley trailed off, and hugged him tighter again. "You are a hero, Doctor. And everyone knows it."

He nuzzled against her gently, relaxing under her soothing touch in the long silence that followed. For just a moment, nothing else existed in the universe. Just her, and the silence, and the safety of her embrace. Had he been anyone else, he could have stayed there forever.

"I wish you'd talk to me," she finally whispered, stroking his hair again.

He swallowed hard, and made several attempts before he actually found words. "There's nothing I can say," he finally managed.

"Tell me it's going to be okay," she pleaded. "Tell me you missed me, you love me, _anything_..."

He tried again, but this time, the words didn't come. Instead, he shifted his weight and moved up to bury his face in her neck, nuzzling and kissing her softly. He loved her. She knew he did. But right now, there were no words to express it. Right now, his mind was filled with the limitless possibilities of what he would one day be forced to witness, be forced to _do_.

She sighed as he settled again, holding her close. Turning to kiss his brow, she leaned her head on his as she sheltered him in her arms. "Oh, Doctor, what did they do to you?"

"Nothing," he whispered. "Nothing yet."

"What do you mean, nothing yet?"

He couldn't answer that. He couldn't even begin to put his thoughts into words. So many years, running from so much pain and death and destruction. And in the final moments, was there even a chance that he would be allowed to escape?

Drawing in a deep, cleansing breath, he withdrew from her and looked up, meeting her gaze. She was watching him with concern, with an empathy that was more than skin deep. She couldn't possibly imagine the magnitude of what he knew, what he was only beginning to come to terms with. He had a choice. He could stay and help the Time Lords, become a prisoner of the Daleks and be the eventual agent of destruction, the weapon of war, that he was always meant to be. He could slaughter his people and maybe, if he was lucky, the Daleks, too. He could become a plaything of Davros and take his own life, over and over and over again, watching the events unfold in a never ending paradox. Or he could abandon his people, and run. He could leave them to their fate, to the mercy of the Daleks, and never, ever look back.

"I left you for ten years, Charley," he whispered softly, watching her eyes as they glistened with unshed tears of confusion and mutual pain. "Do you still trust me?"

She gave a soft smile - a genuine one - and reached up to stroke the side of his face lightly. "To the furthest corner of the universe," she whispered back.

"Good. Then it's settled."

"What is?"

"The furthest corner of the universe." He forced a smile, but he was sure it wasn't nearly as convincing as hers. "That's where we're going, while we still can."

*X*X*X*

"I see you're feeling better," Romana said, looking the Doctor up and down as he stepped into her office with his hands in the pockets of his denim jeans. His stance was no longer rigid, his jaw wasn't set. He looked calmer. "I take it you've seen Charley."

He nodded silently.

"Good." She paused. "There's been some... developments. I'm off to a meeting with the -"

"I want to take my family somewhere safe," he interrupted, his eyes locked on hers.

She blinked, startled. She'd realized he was still standing by the door, but somehow it hadn't even occurred to her that it was significant.

"I'm sorry," he continued quietly. "I know that it would be a very good time to use the popularity I've gained in my absence to further your political agenda, but I have to do this."

Again, she found herself staring. But this time, she was even more struck by his words. And hurt. "You think I would use you to further my political agenda?"

"I would, if I were you," he answered honestly. He took a step further into the room, but didn't relax in the slightest. "The people want closure, and you want security. I've seen the Daleks up close and I can testify - formally and otherwise - to the threat they pose. At this particular moment, I'm the golden boy of Gallifrey. That might change in a week, but as it stands, I'm the best way for you to get what you want."

"That doesn't mean I'd -"

"Save it, Romana," he interrupted again, though this time, his tone was almost gentle. "Frankly, you're right. The Daleks are dangerous and they're coming back. If not for my family, I would stay and help you shout that message from the rooftops. But I can't. Not until they're safe."

She studied him for a moment, and nodded slowly. He wasn't accusing her, and he wasn't wrong. Not about her motives, and not about his popularity among the people, or how quickly it could - would? - change in the wake of the upcoming inquiry. There wasn't much for her to say. Instead, she remained quiet and let him continue.

"This isn't just a war, Romana," he said quietly. "And you know it. I told you I would help, and I will. But I know what it means."

"What?" she asked quietly, though she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer. "What does it mean?"

"If you have to ask, it's only because you don't want to know."

She swallowed hard.

"It's coming, Romana, and there's no way to stop it. This way of life..." He paused for a long moment and swallowed, choking on his words. "It's ending. I can't stop it; no one can. But I'm willing to fight for it, at your side."

"How can you say that?" she demanded, feeling a spark of anger at his calm complacency. "Of all the people in the universe, Doctor, I would never have thought _you _would be the one to resign yourself to fate."

He sighed. "The thing is, Romana, I haven't. I've run from it my entire life, _determined _not to let it happen. Not to become what I've always been. But the truth still found me. Sooner or later, it's going to catch up to me and I know that. I've always known that. The day is coming, Romana. And I want my family safe."

She stared at him, brow furrowed, saying nothing. He sighed as he took a step forward.

"Romana, I can either keep running, keep trying to escape and keep living in fear until the day finally comes that I do what I was born to do, _be _what I was born to be. Or I can get my family to safety, come back, and do it defiantly, without fear."

"And what is it you born to be, Doctor?"

He looked at her with empty, haunted eyes, and hesitated for a long moment before answering. "A tool in your hands, Madame President," he finally said softly.

"Just what is it you expect me to do?" she asked, confused by his resigned tone. "Send you off to lead an army against the Daleks?"

"You know me, Romana," he said, his voice suddenly cold and hard. She looked up again at him. He was staring back steadily. "You know why you called me. You know what I'm capable of."

She swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat, and drew in a slow, uneven breath. Finally, the Doctor lowered his eyes, releasing her from the weight of his stare.

"Let me go, Romana," he pleaded quietly. "I'll come back and fight in your war. I'm not running away. I just want my family somewhere safe."

Romana was quiet for a long moment, absorbing the meaning in his words - the ones he was saying and the ones he wasn't. He didn't have to say them all. She knew him well enough to read between the lines. For a brief moment, she wondered if she might actually know him better than he knew himself. Did he really think he would come back?

"Go," she said quietly, turning to face him again. "Take your family away from all of this."

"Thank you." He forced a smile - one that didn't reach his eyes - and stepped forward, taking her hand. She watched him, feeling a strange sort of numbness set in as he kissed the back of her fingers, squeezed her hand gently, and took a final step back. "Good luck, Romana."

He was silent as he turned away, and the emotions that rose up in her were surprising in their content as much as their intensity. Loss and regret and betrayal... And a deep, all-consuming sense of sadness. As he opened the door, she suddenly found her voice again. "Doctor?"

He turned back, but he was wearing the same blank expression that he'd entered the room with. She took a deep breath, stilling the swirling mass of feelings inside of her.

"I'm fairly certain that's the first time you've ever lied to me."

He stared back at her, unflinching, for a long moment. Then he lowered his eyes, turned, and walked away silently.


	10. Chapter Nine - The Doctor's Daughters

**CHAPTER NINE**

**The Doctor's Daughters**

"Is it true your father was a prisoner of the Daleks once?"

"How should I know?" The girl picked at the blades of red grass and threw them, one at a time, into the still lake. It was more of a swamp, really, shallow and teeming with life. "I barely even knew him. I was too young when he left to really talk to him about things like that."

"Yeah, but you gotta remember something."

India sighed and looked away. These conversations were all the same, and each time, she hated them more.

"Come on. What do you remember? You can tell me..."

She let her mind wander back, and smiled faintly at the memory of a sparkling, spinning top. _"That's not going to catch fire to my furniture, is it?"_ The way he smiled, the way he smelled - like warm butter and the sunrise outside of the Citadel, in the still, Gallifreyan air.

"Oi." The boy sitting beside her - Alex or Andrew or whatever he'd said his name was - set a hand on her shoulder and she leaned away slightly. "You okay?"

He sounded so concerned, and so fake, it made her wonder briefly if it would be worth the repercussions to see the look on his face if she hauled off and slapped him. Instead, she gave him the same answer she had given every fool before him.

"He wore denim jeans and a late 19th Century Earth jacket. Military, I think he said once. Could've been some navy."

"Well, yeah, but everyone knows that. I mean, I've seen pictures. But what was he _like_? Was he... you know... weird?"

India grabbed a fistful of grass this time, and let it scatter in the breeze. Why did she even waste her time on these idiots? Every time she dared to hope that she might have met somebody different, an actual friend, she was invariably disappointed by more of the same. Resigning herself to the inevitable, she stood to her feet, glad to put some distance between them.

"Look," she sighed. "I suppose it would make you really cool if you could be the one person who could manage to make me spill my guts on all the hot gossip I must be keeping to myself. But I'm not any good at this."

"Good at what?" He sounded confused. "We were just talking. I thought we were going fine."

"You were going fine. I was going batshit crazy because you are just like every other cool kid I've ever talked to and," she sighed tiredly, "I don't like you."

"You talk so strange," the boy answered with a laugh. "Did he talk like that?"

"Strange_ly_," she corrected. "And no. I don't know. It doesn't matter."

He shook his head as he stood up. "You don't get it, do you?" He sounded utterly confused by her. "How can it _not _matter? It's not like Gallifrey has that many celebrities."

She rolled her eyes. "He's _not _a fucking celebrity, alright?"

"Well, what do you call it?" he challenged, following after her as she turned to walk away. "As many people know his name as Rassilon's. Or Omega's. I'd say that makes him pretty legendary. If he hadn't died -"

She reacted instantly and without thought, spinning on him and shoving him back against the nearest tree with an arm across his throat. His eyes were wide with startled surprise as she glared daggers at him. "He's _not _dead," she snarled.

He stared at her for a moment, then laughed tightly. "You're serious, aren't you? You still think he's alive."

She took a step back, letting him go, and turned away with a sigh. "Look. I'm not like you. If you want to talk about the Doctor, go ask my sister. She knew him better than I did; she was older."

"Half sister," he corrected, following after her again. "She's just a human. You're different. Unique even. Half human, half Time Lord... How does that feel?"

"How's it supposed to feel?" She turned back to look at him and gave him her best "parting smile". "Look. This has been a fascinating conversation, but I really need to get back to my studies. But before I go, let me give you one piece of advice. You're Gallifreyan. And if you do talk to my sister - and really, you should; she just loves to waste her time on morons like you - do yourself a favor." She dropped her voice to a whisper and smiled politely. "Don't tell her she's just a human. You'll ruin your chances before you even get to make your speech."

Without another word, India spun on her heel and walked away. This time, thankfully, he didn't follow, although she could hear him calling after her. Some last ditch effort to save his pride and a comment about the rumors being true, that she was more human than Gallifreyan. It was supposed to be an insult, although she didn't feel terribly insulted. Neither side - human or Gallifreyan - were particularly kind to her. She didn't properly fit in with either clique. And she didn't want to do. The best thing that could happen to her, as far as she was concerned, was to be left alone in her solitary world of books and plots and fantasies about one day escaping from this god-forsaken place.

"Good morning, India," the attendant at the front desk of the dorms greeted as she stepped in through the doors.

India groaned inwardly, hoping she had something to say and wasn't just trying to make small talk. Luckily, she held a folded piece of paper over the desk, indicating that there was, in fact, a reason why they were chatting.

"You're mother's been in twice looking for you and your sister."

"Thanks," India answered halfheartedly, heading for the hallway that led toward her room. She was almost there when she'd managed to unfold the paper and read the words. Then she stopped, eyes wide, turned, and ran for the front door again.

*X*X*X*

"Julia!"

Julia groaned inwardly, careful not to let her dread break her breathing pattern as her feet fell steadily on the pavement. Maybe if she just ignored that voice, desperate as it sounded, it would go away.

"Oi, Julia, wait up!"

Bloody hell, it wasn't going away. And this time, T'Riqa heard it, too. "Oi, wait." Slowing beside her, T'Riqa spun on her heel and shielded her eyes from the twin suns above, squinting at the figure in the distance. "Is that your sister?"

Obliged to follow suit, Julia slowed and then stopped, turning back to wait for the brown-haired, freckle-faced thorn in Julia's side. Wiping a hand across her forehead, Julia took a few steps back to stand beside her best friend. "Yeah," she grumbled. "Don't tell anybody."

T'Riqa smirked. "I'm pretty sure they already know."

"I like to think of it as a rumor that nobody really believes."

"Well, in your favor, there's not much of a family resemblance."

"Fucking telk," Julia mumbled under her breath, then to T'Riqa, "Her father's a Time Lord. What do you expect?"

"Don't knock it, Julia," T'Riqa snickered. "He may be Gallifreyan, but he's damn sure served you well."

Julia scowled as she watched India, huffing and puffing at the exertion of the short jog. "He's still a telk," she muttered under her breath.

"What are you doing?" India cried.

Julia raised a brow. "What does it look like I'm doing?" She gave the five-years-younger, overweight girl a look of disdain. "Contrary to popular belief, I actually have to work to look like this."

India rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Julia, have you talked to Mum?"

"No. Why should I?"

India paused, staring at her in bewilderment. "You haven't heard, have you?"

"Heard what?"

"Geez, with all your connections, I didn't think I'd be the one to tell you. I was just coming to see what was keeping -"

"Valx, India, spit it out!" Julia checked her watch impatiently.

"Oh." Looking suitably dejected, India ran a hand through her shaggy hair. "It's just... It's the Doctor."

Julia raised a brow. "What about him?"

And then India gave her that stupid, lopsided smile like a little cruking kid. And suddenly, Julia knew exactly what she was going to say. "He's back," she announced proudly. "The Doctor's back on Gallifrey!"

***X*X*X***

The Doctor hesitated at the door. He wasn't initially sure why. He knew that Julia was inside, with her friend. They'd come in through the front doors, whisked past him in such a flurry they hadn't even seen him standing there, and disappeared down the hall. Now he could hear their voices through the door.

"I don't get it. What's so bad about him being back?"

"Get off, T'Riqa."

Hand poised to knock on the door, he waited. He didn't want to eavesdrop, but at the same time, it wouldn't hurt to know what he was walking into.

"What?" T'Riqa laughed. "He's a valking legend. And he'd be hot if he didn't look... you know. Old enough to be my dad."

"He's a bloody Time Lord, Riqa; he's not human. I'm sure he looks the same now as he did ten years ago, and a hundred years before that."

"Hmm. Too bad the ones who look like Anto don't stay like that forever."

"What is it with you and the telks?"

"You can't tell me you wouldn't do Anto."

"Anto is Gallifreyan. He's got about as much interest in shagging either one of us as a tree."

"Your dad is an exception to the rule. Why couldn't Anto be?"

"He's different. And he's not really my dad; you know that."

The Doctor sighed. His hopes of an easy conversation suitably dashed, he finally rapped neatly on the door. Silence fell in the room, and a moment later, the door swung open. The young woman who had answered it stood back, arms crossed and eyes piercing. She looked like a ridiculously athletic Charley with the poise of Lucie Miller. It made him do a double take. Ten years had changed her a great deal from the little girl he'd left behind.

"Am I interrupting?"

Her friend took a moment - a long moment - to look him over, head to toe. She answered before Julia did, stepping forward and extending a hand with a broad smile. "Hi. I'm T'Riqa. Human, if you were wondering."

"Pleasure to meet you," he answered congenially. She beamed even wider when he returned the customary gesture without hesitation, instead of regarding her hand with disgust. "I'm the Doctor."

"Oh, I know."

He raised a brow. She must have realized the way she was looking at him, because a blush crept into her cheeks as she stepped back again and reached for the backpack on the bed. "Um. Sorry. I uh... I suppose you two want to talk. I'll just..." She stumbled for the door. "I'll come back later."

As she passed by Julia, she gave her a wink and a smile. But Julia only glared back. The Doctor stepped aside to let her out of the room, and Julia sighed as she gestured loosely for him to come in.

"So. You're back."

She sounded neither amused nor impressed - a very different response from the starstruck welcome T'Riqa had given him.

"Yes!" He smiled warmly. "I'm back. Seems I've been gone a bit longer than expected."

She raised a brow, and gave a snicker. "A bit?"

"Alright, quite a lot longer." He glanced around the room - arranged similarly to every other Academy dorm room he had ever seen. "Though, to be fair, it's only been about ten hours for me. Love what you've done with the place. Bright colors, always nice."

"Uh huh." She followed his gaze around the room, but her defensive posture never relaxed. "Well, I take it you didn't come all this way to comment on my interior decorating."

"All this way?" he asked, curious.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"Ah, well..." He tensed slightly. He'd been hoping to put the subject off a bit longer, but she was just as forward as her mother. More so, even. He sighed. "Look, Julia, I understand you're doing very well here and I'm glad to hear it; I really am. But I'm afraid we have to leave."

"Really?" For just a moment, she looked relieved. Her arms dropped to her sides and her eyes brightened. "Great! I mean..."

He quirked an eyebrow. That wasn't the reaction he was expecting.

"Oh," she tried to recover, putting on her best "sad" face. "That's... I'm sorry. That's so sad."

He stared at her for a moment. "Am I missing something?"

"Missing?" she asked innocently.

"Your mother gave me the impression that you had a number of friends here that you would be reluctant to leave behind."

"Me?" She looked confused. "Oh, yeah, I'm quite happy. I just... I know India doesn't like it much and... well, Mum certainly doesn't." She eyed him warily. "You are... taking India, right?"

He frowned. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I?"

"Oh good!" She let out a sigh of relief, and shifted for a moment, as if she wasn't sure what to say. "So, um... when are you leaving?"

He shook he head slightly. This was going easier than he'd thought; almost too easy. "Well, the plan is to leave right away. Though we may have to track down your sister."

"Oh, I just saw her!" Julia was all smiles. "She's, um, running. More... stumbling, really, but the basic premise is there. She'll probably be face down in the courtyard trying to catch her breath any minute now."

He blinked, not sure what to make of that. "Right. I'll just go fetch her, then, while you pack your things."

"Me?" Well and truly alarmed, Julia covered up her surprise with a tight laugh. "Oh. No, no. That's really not necessary. Like I said, I'm perfectly happy here."

He blinked. "What do you -"

She interrupted him quickly as she quite literally pushed him out the door of her dorm room, ushering him with a big smile and a sweep of her hand. "But India will love it! The chance to get out of here, I mean. She really does hate this place. And Mum, of course. But I'm sure you knew that. I really do wish you all the best. And keep in touch! Really. I want to know how you're doing."

The Doctor was tripping over his feet, and his thoughts. Clearly, she had misunderstood. "Julia, wait, I-"

He was cut off by a door being slammed in his face. For a long moment, he stood still, staring, bewildered and not entirely sure what had just happened. That was usually _his _move, telling people what they were going to do and then watching them perform just as he dictated, regardless of their own intentions. But he had fallen right into that and had not even seen it coming.

He brought his hand up a couple of times to knock and thought better of it. Looking around, he noticed people were starting to stare. He cleared his throat, took a breath, and addressed the door with a slightly raised voice.

"It was good to see you, too, Julia. I'll just have your mum come help you with your things. I... guess I'll be going now."

No answer came from inside the room. And after a long moment of silence, he finally turned and walked away, ignoring the whispers behind him.


	11. Chapter Ten - Reestablishing Ties

**CHAPTER TEN**

**Reestablishing Ties**

"What do you mean, she wouldn't come!"

"Well, see, that's not _exactly _what I said," the Doctor corrected, wincing at the angry tone in Charley's voice over the com unit. "It was more of a... miscommunication."

"Oh for pity's sake." The Doctor could hear her eyes roll. "What was hard to communicate about 'you will come now'?"

Stepping out of the stairwell and into the lobby of the dorms, the Doctor rubbed the back of his neck uneasily. "I think maybe you'd better talk to her. I'm a bit out of practice when it comes to handling teenage girls."

"Clearly. Why did you give her a choice?"

"I didn't." He frowned. "Well, not exactly. Like I said, there was miscommunication all the way around."

"Oh, I'll bet there was," Charley grumbled under her breath. "Did she know where to find India?"

"She had some suggestions on where she might be."

"Fine. I'll deal with Julia. India shouldn't be quite such a handful."

The Doctor breathed a sigh of relief. "Right, I'll see you soon."

"Goodbye, Doctor."

He hadn't been entirely certain _how_ sarcastic Julia had been when she'd said her sister was probably face down in the courtyard trying to catch her breath. But he'd certainly been expecting an element of sarcasm. He hadn't actually expected to see the girl lying sprawled on the grass, hair hiding her face, clinging to the turf like it might actually slide out from under her.

Alarmed by the sight of her obviously unwell, and irritated by the fact that no one seemed to care, he set into a full sprint, weaving through the passersby and calling her name. He himself attracted a few stares, but still no one looked at her with any measure of concern.

"India!" He paused beside her and knelt down. "Are you okay?"

She didn't look up or even try to peek through her hair. She only lifted a hand halfway off the grass and waved in his general direction as she answered into the ground. "Nope. I'm good! Keep walkin'. Nothing to see."

Her hand fell flat again, the exertion of lifting it clearly taking its toll. The Doctor frowned as confusion replaced the worry. He was suddenly noticing the way people were whispering to each other, rolling their eyes and snickering. He was pretty sure he heard at least one "now it makes sense." He looked back down at his daughter splayed on the ground.

"Uh, India? What're you doing?"

This time, she lifted her head and shook it a bit until she could see through her hair, jutting out her jaw to blow it up off of her forehead. "Oh. It's you. Good."

"Yes, it's me..."

With a deep groan, she pushed herself onto her back, sprawling on the red grass and still heaving deep breaths of air as she stared up at the sky. "You know, I heard a rumor once that you do a lot of running in your... whatever it is you do. That respiratory bypass must come in _real_ handy."

He smirked, still not entirely sure what she was on about but glad she'd finally at least rolled over. "Yes, on both accounts. But you still haven't answered my question. What're you doing lying face first in the grass?"

"Running, of course!" She smiled as she turned her head to look at him. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're lying in the grass. It also seems to be a common occurrence based on everyone's reaction, or lack thereof."

"Oh, come on, Doctor. You're gonna tell me you never just passed out in the middle of a crowd of people and let them all walk by staring at you and too embarrassed to point out the fact that something was seriously wrong with you?" She smirked. "'Cause I know for a fact that isn't a true. Though as I recall the story, you were _naked _when you did it. And covered in red slime..."

He actually felt his face warm. "You've been talking to Professor Cartiga, I see."

"Oh, you wouldn't believe some of the stories I've heard about you, Doctor." She eyed him with curiosity. "Did you really switch all the labels on the vials in the phaso-chemistry labs and cause a rotten fruit explosion?"

He felt the heat from the blush start at his toes and quickly work its way up his body. "I... might have done."

She pushed herself up. "Well, not _really_ rotten fruit of course, but apparently it smelled like it for about three weeks. At least, that's what they say."

He smiled knowingly. "Credit where credit is due, that wasn't actually my idea. I just executed it."

"You know, you can't do stuff like that nowadays. Too hard not to get caught."

"You know this from experience?"

"I might."

He raised a brow as he studied her. Gradually, her smile faded, and her voice dropped to a more serious tone. "Mum said you were back. I dunno if I really believed her. Well, I mean, I know she wouldn't lie. Not about something like that. But I just... didn't really think about what it'd be like to see you again."

"It's been a long time," he answered quietly. "For you, at least. I was caught in a time distortion field. For me, you were a little girl just a few hours ago."

"It must be a shock." She grinned. "Though not as much of a shock as having a chat with Julia."

The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck again. "Yeah... that didn't go so well."

"Well, in any case..." She rose to her feet, straightened her posture, and used her best formal and authoritative voice to speak to him in his native language. "{Time Lord of Gallifrey, I humbly beseech you with an earnest request!}"

He chuckled at the formality and looked up at her. "{And what might that be?}"

Head held high, she addressed him with a flourish that was as gaudy and reverent as it was fake. "{You shall take me to your Tardis!}" Letting her shoulders slouch again, she looked down at him and beamed again. "Because ever since I started flight training, I have been _dying _to see it!"

*X*X*X*

"Do you remember her name?"

The prisoner frowned deeply as she stared at the holographic reconstruction of what they thought she might have looked like - what she would look like again when their microscopic machines were finished putting her together. Braxiatel had never really studied medical science - at least, no more than to fulfill the basic requirements of his Academy training. On the other side of the glass that separated him from the prisoner and the technician, he watched silently, with interest.

The prisoner shook her head in response to the question. "I... I'm not sure."

"Do you remember her face?"

"I don't know. I think so."

"I'd like you to close your eyes. Can you do that?"

The prisoner closed her eyes.

"Now... I want you to think back. I want you to picture her in your mind, but picture her as a child. Can you do that?"

She nodded slowly. "I'll try."

"Just a child. A young child. What is she doing?"

The prisoner licked her lips to bring moisture back to her mouth. The narrow spike in her adrenaline indicated that she wanted to answer, but she didn't know what to say. Instead, she shook her head, eyes still closed. "She was never a young child."

"An older child, then. A young woman. Can you see her as a young woman?"

The prisoner concentrated for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yes. Yes, I think so."

"What is she doing?"

"She's... running."

"Is she running _towards _something? Or away from it?"

"Neither. She's just... running. On and on, as if she might run forever."

Coordinator Rodak was standing beside Braxiatel. He looked up as a second medical technician approached to stand beside him, staring through the glass. The woman on the sofa was still skin and bones, half-blind and broken in every way. It would probably take days to restore her, if not weeks.

"She should really be resting," the technician said, clearly concerned.

"She'll have plenty of time to rest," Rodak answered. "Right now, she needs to tell us what she knows."

"It's not that simple," the technician answered. "The pathways in her brain -"

"You don't have to explain to me the science of sub-nucleic rejuvenation," Rodak interrupted. "I heard it the first time."

"You just don't care, do you?" The technician scowled. "You don't care what it might do to her brain."

"Actually, I care a great deal. If she doesn't make a full recovery, she won't be a very reliable witness." He cast a cool glance in the technician's direction. "And I have a feeling that her testimony will be vital in the days to come."

"Tell me anything you know about the girl who's running. Anything at all."

Braxiatel ignored the quiet argument, focused instead on the woman in the brightly lit room, lying still and broken.

"There was a..." Her face contorted as she struggled to remember. "A Tardis."

"What do you remember about the Tardis?"

"There was a man there."

"What sort of a man?"

"I... I don't know."

"Was he a good man or a bad man?"

"I don't know that, either."

"Can you tell me anything about him?"

"I think... I'm pretty sure... He had an umbrella."

"Tell me about the man with the umbrella."

The prisoner opened her eyes and stared for a long moment at the white ceiling.

"He's always right," the prisoner whispered. "Even when he's wrong. But she won't know that until later."

"Does he have a name?"

"He's the professor."

"Professor of what?"

Her brow furrowed - loose skin over weakened bone. The nanites hadn't gotten that far yet. They had to work more slowly than normal. Even though they were suppressing the pain center of her brain, if her body was rebuilt too rapidly, it would undoubtedly put her into shock. Normally, they wouldn't have even attempted to rejuvenate a patient this far gone. Even Braxiatel knew that much.

"I... I don't know."

"Does the Tardis belong to him?"

"Yes. Both of them."

"Both? There are two?"

"It was supposed to be blue. But ours was white. And theirs was black."

"Whose was black?"

"The light..." Her pulse was increasing. "He couldn't see. Locked in that room and we watched them die from radiation poisoning. And then it wound back. I knew there was a reason."

"Just relax," the technician said softly, watching the prisoner's blood pressure rise steadily. "You're safe now."

"Over and over again... The explosion... A time loop... The white and the black..."

She wasn't settling. In fact, her breathing was coming in ragged gasps now, eyes shut tight. She tried to sit up, but she didn't have the strength yet. Instead, she just lay on the cot and curled up with an agonized moan.

"She sounds like she's in pain," Braxiatel observed.

"She can't be," the technician assured him. "There's nothing in her brain that can feel pain at this particular moment."

"Then her response is...?"

"A panic reaction. She has them every time we walk this path. Every time we talk about the man with the umbrella."

Braxiatel nodded. "Then perhaps it is not in your patient's best interest to talk about him."

Rodak answered before the technician had a chance. "We feel that the information she may provide on this 'professor' is worth the risk."

"To you, perhaps, it is. I suspect she would hold a very different opinion."

The technician inside the room reached for the dial on the IV stand and turned it slowly, feeding the sleep-inducing natural hormones directly into the broken woman's blood stream. As she settled, the technician stood and walked quietly to the door, stepping out into the hallway. She gave them a polite smile as she closed the door behind her.

"Coordinator Rodak, High Chancellor."

"Good evening," Braxiatel greeted with an answering smile.

"Have you learned anything more about the man with the umbrella?" Rodak demanded.

"Only what you've heard." She turned to look through the glass at the sleeping woman, reflecting quietly. "This is the first time he's been given a title of any sort."

"Is he the Doctor?" Rodak asked pointedly.

The technician frowned. "There is no reason to suspect that."

"She specified that the Tardis was blue."

"She also specified that he owns _two _of them. And one was only supposed to be blue, but in fact it was white. And another was black."

"How could he own two Tardises?"

"Perhaps she was once a student from the Academy and this professor was one of her instructors. Though I'll be honest; if this professor even exists - and I'm not certain he does - he seems to be more of a father figure than a schoolteacher."

Braxiatel frowned. "What do you mean _if _he exists? If he doesn't even exist, why are you questioning her about him?"

"I'm not." She cast a sideways glance at the Coordinator. "My primary goal in talking to her, about the man with the umbrella or anything else, is to get her brain functioning normally again. She's relearning how to think for herself, how to access memories, what pathways to take. What she says is not half as important as the simple fact that she says it."

"Has she said anything more about the Doctor directly?" Rodak demanded.

"No. And I would strongly advise against pressuring her into further conversation about him. Her mind is still very fragile and it's a very quick way to drive her to panic."

Rodak frowned, but he didn't dare to oppose her on this one point. He had already seen the effect that any discussion about the Doctor had on the woman in the room. She had talked - at least, she had tried. But her fear was too intense. It drowned out any hope of rational conversation, let alone an accurate recounting of dramatic events.

"There is one thing I can tell you, Coordinator," the technician offered, turning away from the glass and focusing her attention on the two men beside her.

"What's that?"

"She has remembered her name. Or possibly her mother's name; I'm not entirely certain. It came in the middle of a discussion about Kansas."

"What's Kansas?"

"I believe it's a colony on Earth a few hundred years on either side of the twentieth century. It seems to be somewhere near Perivale, though I couldn't tell you where that is, either."

"And her name?"

"Oh, yes, right." The technician smiled as she looked up again, pleased that she had something to report that she could indisputably regard as a success. "Her name is Dorothy."


	12. Chapter Eleven - Offer of Salvation

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**Offer of Salvation**

"Wow..." India was all eyes as she stepped through the doors of the Tardis and looked around. "It's..."

"If you say it's bigger on the inside, I'm going to have to have a word with your dimensional physics professors."

She laughed heartily. "No, but it's _beautiful_!" She skipped toward the console and spun around, staring up at the high ceiling and the curving architecture. "I've never seen a Tardis like this!"

"No, I should think not."

Her eyes ran over the console eagerly. "Where is the temporal stabilizer?"

"Underneath."

Clearly shocked, she looked up. "Underneath?"

The Doctor nodded.

"How do you regulate it when you're flying on full manual?"

"You don't." He stepped around the console and knelt down beside the girl. She crouched beside him as he pointed to the underside of the console. "The Type-40 wasn't really designed to be flown manually at all. See? It's right there."

"Do you mean it _can't _be flown manually?"

"No, it can. But it takes an exceptional pilot."

"But how? How do you even get to the stabilizer in flight?"

"That's the beauty of it, India; you don't. You have to navigate the temporal field _without _the stabilizer. It's only operational when the Tardis is being piloted in synchronic relay."

"But how does that work?" She frowned as she stood, crossing her arms over her chest and studying him skeptically. "The main impracticality of pre-60 Tardises was the fact that it required a crew of four, six, even ten. How do you control it in synchronic relay with so many pilots?"

"No, just one pilot. One captain of the ship, as it were." He stood beside her again, looking over the console. "The other panels were operated manually - temporal navigation and interspatial maneuvering can be done with more precision in this Tardis than -"

"I am _not _traveling in this thing." The Doctor turned as the door opened and Charley all but shoved Julia inside.

"There's nothing wrong with it, Julia," Charley answered patiently. But clearly she was at the end of her rope.

"Look at it! It's dirty, it's disgusting, the technology is ancient!"

"Oh, come on," the Doctor tried, stepping forward. "It's not that bad. Besides, if you hate the desktop so much, I suppose we can change it."

Julia crossed her arms and glared daggers at him. "The desktop isn't the only thing I hate about this."

Charley cast an irritated glance at India. "Are you ready to go?"

"Sure."

"Where are your things?"

India shrugged. "Not much worth taking with me when it's all said and done." She smiled at the Doctor. "Better to travel light."

Her mother was staring at her.

"What?" she asked innocently and with a laugh. "It's what you did. You didn't exactly walk away from the R-101 with a suitcase in your hand."

"She's got a point," the Doctor added with a smile.

Charley sighed. "You know what? I don't care. Both of you can just -"

"I hope I'm not interrupting."

The reactions to seeing Chancellor Braxiatel standing in the still-open doorway were varied greatly, but all of them surprised.

"Yes," Charley answered abruptly. "You rather are interrupting."

Julia took a step forward. "High Chancellor, will you please tell them that I'm better off staying here?"

"Julia, enough!"

"But Mum, you are completely -"

"I didn't come to interfere in your family affairs," Braxiatel interrupted.

"Then what _do _you want?" Charley demanded.

"I'd like a word with your... husband." He hesitated on the word.

The Doctor turned to face him, squaring his shoulders. "I have permission to leave, Braxiatel," he said flatly. "Please don't stand in my way."

"I'm well aware of your permission. But before you go, there is something you should see."

The Doctor studied him for a moment, as if debating.

"It will only take a moment," Braxiatel continued. "Your family can wait here if you'd like."

"What is it?" India asked, curious.

The Doctor eyed him for a moment, then looked back, exchanging a quick glance with India. "Stay here," he ordered. "And don't touch _anything_."

India smiled mischievously. "Of course."

"Charley?"

She sighed audibly. "Doctor, don't do this. Let's just _go_."

"It will only take a moment." He paused beside her, set his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her forehead. "Find rooms for the girls," he suggested. "I'll be back shortly, and we'll be off."

"I'll find my own way, thanks," Julia shot back with disgust.

Charley sighed again, but didn't try to stop either of them as they turned and walked in opposite directions.

*X*X*X*

"What is this?" the Doctor asked as the holographic image formed around them. They were suddenly standing in the middle of at least a hundred interconnected threads, each the length of a man, joining pockets of dark matter. The energy drifting back and forth over the wires made them seem alive as they moved fluidly, pulsing and glowing as they formed new branches, connecting over each other like a gnarled tree. New dark matter formed as well, as the picture completed itself.

"It's a simulation of the Web of Time," Braxiatel answered. "It's not living, merely a recording."

The Doctor stepped forward, closer to one of the lines. As he traced it with his finger, it glowed, allowing him to navigate his way through it. His experience with viewing the Web of Time in the Matrix guided him. Each of the pockets of dark matter was an event, joined to the others by a fragile strand. If it were the Matrix - infinitely more powerful than any holographic recording - any one of these events might be opened, and witnessed in its entirety.

"Why make a holographic copy of the Web of Time?" the Doctor asked, genuinely curious. "Even on a normal day, it changes too frequently to make a snapshot of any use."

Miniscule events, like tiny, fragile dewdrops, rested on the strands, and little thorns protruded in every direction, forming and reforming as the decisions of peoples' lives changed and formed the Web to various degrees. He watched as a thin strand snapped, and another grew in its place.

"You can't see for yourself, Doctor?"

The Doctor raised a brow in Braxiatel's direction. With a patient, only mildly condescending look, Braxiatel stepped back, and raised a hand to shrink the image, compacting it into a tight ball that hovered between them. Then the Doctor saw it. The loose strands, the dark areas where the fibers had died.

"This," Braxiatel announced, "is the Last Great Time War."

The Doctor blinked in surprise, turning to look at him. "What?"

Braxiatel didn't repeat himself. He knew there was no reason for it. As the shock wore off, the Doctor frowned. "Where did you get it?"

"If you really want to know, I'm sure you could find out. Or you could simply take my word for it that I, too, would do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of the things I hold most dear."

For a long moment, the Doctor studied him. Then he lowered his eyes again to the glowing ball. "Does Romana know about this?"

"Of course not," Braxiatel answered. "The information contained in this projection is paramount to the foreknowledge of the Visionary. If she knew of its existence, she would have to report it to the High Council or risk being charged with any number of violations of Gallifreyan law. She's already in a very precarious political position. I would rather not make it any more difficult for her to maintain her role with a clear conscience."

"And what about you?" the Doctor asked pointedly. "You're High Chancellor. You have the same duty."

"My conscience is not so fragile."

"Be that as it may, why share your knowledge with me? A secret is best kept when only the guilty party knows about it. Why trust me?"

"At the moment, Doctor, whether I like it or not, you're one of the few people I _can_ trust."

"Why is that? I'm a renegade, Braxiatel. Or have you forgotten?"

"No, in fact, that's precisely the reason why you're so qualified."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. "Explain, please."

"You have always been very forthcoming about your willingness to break every rule in the book if it could save a single life. I'm asking you now to save your own."

The Doctor frowned deeply, eyeing Braxiatel warily. "I'm listening."

"I haven't explored this entire recording," Braxiatel said as he waved a hand, expanding the image around them again before he continued. "Frankly, I don't think it's wise. But I have located a number of events on which the entire Web hinges. Any strands not running through these particular points terminate, and the end of the timeline is avoided only by a paradox, looping back through until the point can be met."

"That makes sense," the Doctor answered. "That's how the Web of Time is designed to work. Time repairs itself to ensure that fixed points aren't altered."

"Yes. The difference is, _we _typically control the fixture of those points. Which is precisely why we are able to repair them when time is unable to fix itself."

"And the points in this projection are different because we didn't establish them," the Doctor guessed.

Braxiatel hesitated. "In a way. At the time this projection was made, there had already been numerous attempts to correct the damage done."

"Attempts by the Time Lords."

"Yes, at some point in the future. But the attempts themselves are fixed. They _will _happen."

The Doctor nodded slowly. "So the attempts to rewrite the paradoxes will solidify new fixed points in the Web, and time will correct any deviation from those fixed points to ensure that they are met. That's simple enough."

"Even if that correction is made through a paradoxical equation."

The Doctor stared at him, not entirely sure what to say to that. Time correcting itself by using a paradox... It was theoretically possible, but he had never seen it before. And it certainly made for one hell of a complicated thread...

"This is the first invasion. The first fixed point." Braxiatel opened one of the pockets that seemed joined to nearly every strand around them with a touch of his finger. Unlike the full resolution, completely interactive files of the Matrix, all that appeared was a small holographic image of a Dalek ship. "Inevitably, it fails. Any timeline in which it succeeds - in which they actually land on Gallifrey - cycles back paradoxically to this same point to repeat it again."

"Well, that's good news," the Doctor muttered. "It didn't succeed, so we're on the right path."

"Yes. This appears to be our current path," Braxiatel continued, tracing one of the strands. "The Unknown Ship is destroyed, and you return to Gallifrey after... a number of years away. Sometimes ten, sometimes two, sometimes fifty."

"I trust that you're not going to tell me about my future," the Doctor said warily.

"I am," Braxiatel answered. "But only insomuch as to prevent you from veering away from a second fixed point and wasting precious time looping around a paradox until you get it right."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. "And how would I get it right?"

Braxiatel looked straight at him, unflinching. "The Daleks are about to invade again. And they will succeed without your intervention. You will either provide that intervention or you, and your entire family, will die trying to escape."

*X*X*X*

"What, in the name of Rassilon, is that noise?"

Wellsin looked up briefly, making eye contact with his supervisor for only a moment. "It's why I called you, Lord Arimus," he answered quickly.

The noise - little more than overmodulated static, was resounding far too loudly in the little room. But no one seemed to notice. The workers were running, racing to engage recorders and tracking systems, and to call other departments. The chatter was minimal, professional, and tightly spoken - a testament to the anxiety in the room.

"It just started, a few minutes ago," Wellsin explained quickly. "But it's... well, it's... It's just like before."

Arimus studied him for a moment, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean, like before?"

"Lord Wellsin," Cobic approached with a polite nod to the man who rarely set foot into this room itself, but otherwise didn't acknowledge him. "Sorry to interrupt. The Energy Tracking Center says they have nothing to report. No fluctuations at all."

"They must. For us to be getting the signal, it must be coming from somewhere."

"Well, Lord Wellsin, if you remember... we didn't know precisely where it was coming from the first time, either."

"Got a recording!" one of the other workers called. "Cleaning it up now!"

"How long will it take?"

"Just a few more... Turn that down!"

"Quiet! Listen!"

Wellsin scarcely breathed as all movement in the room stopped. The static quieted, and in its place was a garbled sound, clearer as it progressed. "... surrender Gallifrey... will all die!"

"Visual is coming in."

"Bloody hell," Arimus said quietly, staring at the image that slowly took shape on the screen. "It's Davros."

"More than that," Wellsin continued quietly, with a note of fear in his voice. "It's the same exact transmission we received ten years ago."


	13. Chapter Twelve - Braced for Impact

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

**Braced for Impact**

"Shortly after we fired upon the Unknown Ship, a man arrived on Gallifrey in your Tardis."

The Doctor blinked. "_My_ Tardis?"

"Yes. Yours. A future - now present - version." Braxiatel spoke as if he were reporting the weather. But the Doctor's chest was tightening. "As a temporal anomaly, the Tardis was quickly contained and dispersed. Your Tardis, after all, was still in the berthing bay of the Citadel. The man posed a greater problem. His name was Genesee Da'an."

Braxiatel opened another pocket in the simulation to reveal the image of a man dressed in shredded rags. The Doctor studied him for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't know him."

"You'll meet him when you flee Gallifrey with your wife and children, three days before the second invasion. The Daleks will intercept your Tardis, kill your family, and take you as a prisoner aboard the Unknown Ship - itself the result of an additional paradox in several timelines. It's entirely possible that we _did_, in fact, witness its destruction."

"So you're telling me that if I leave, I'm going to be intercepted by the Daleks?"

"In every possible timeline," Braxiatel answered. He moved the image, navigating smoothly between one line, then another, then another. Each bore the image of the man in rags. "After the death of your family, you help Genessee Da'an to escape, and he presents on Gallifrey, displaced into some temporal point during your absence, with a warning that the Daleks are still coming. You then destroy the ship, killing yourself and everyone onboard."

"So he's been here. That's written."

"Yes."

"And Romana knows this?"

"Yes."

"And the Council? His presence here must have been some warning to them."

"Why do you think the CIA arrested you the moment you set foot on Gallifrey?" Braxiatel answered with a shrug. "His testimony suggested that you, as a prisoner of the Daleks, were the primary means of repairing the damage sustained by their ship during the first invasion in his particular originating timeline. Though to be honest, I was never quite able to determine which timeline that was."

"And still the Council is suggesting that the threat has passed?"

"The Council is suggesting no such thing. They merely want to reassign all matters concerning the Dalek Crisis to the CIA, and usurp President Romana's authority. Likely in the hopes of keeping you out of it, among other things."

The Doctor frowned deeply as he eyed Braxiatel. "Why would they want to do that? I wasn't exactly anxious to get involved in the first place."

Braxiatel hesitated. "I suspect that Coordinator Rodak has plans for the war that he wishes not to share with us and furthermore doesn't want you interfering with. As long as Romana retains her position of authority over the matter of the Dalek Crisis, he can't make a move without her permission."

"What sort of plans?"

"It doesn't matter. Whatever they are, they're bound to fail if they involve cutting you out of the picture. And we will return once again to square one."

The Doctor frowned. "You want me to believe that if anyone tries to stop me from helping Gallifrey defend itself against the Daleks - anyone _including _me - that Time will correct that fixed point even if it means implementing a paradox?"

"Unfortunately, that's exactly what I'm saying," Braxiatel sighed. "For whatever reason - and truly, I can't even begin to speculate why - you seem to be a very integral part of the chain of events. Whether or not you want to be involved, you will. You must."

The Doctor still wasn't sure whether or not to believe what he was hearing, although he had to admit that it was an awful lot of effort to go through for a lie when a direct order would have sufficed to keep him here. They'd locked him out of his Tardis once...

He turned away, taking a moment to think. If the man, Genesee Da'an, had come and gone, then it gave more substance to a number of things the Doctor already knew. Davros, and his pleasure at watching the Doctor suffer "again." His name, carved into the control panel of the Unknown Ship. And then there was the obvious: the CIA's mistaken belief that he had somehow helped the Daleks while he'd been missing for the past ten years. He'd thought the information had come from their new prisoner. But if there was any truth to what Braxiatel was saying, any testimony she might have given could have just been additional information to support what they already knew. The only problem was, they thought it was in his past. He knew it was still in his future.

He shivered as he closed his eyes, stomach still tying itself in knots. He'd thought he could escape it, that he could somehow avoid being caught on that Unknown Ship if he just ran far and fast enough. But if he couldn't run, if he was forced to stay and fight, there was no telling what the _next _fixed point in his timeline was. Or, more specifically, if his being a prisoner was a point that Time would correct itself to ensure. There was absolutely nowhere for him to run.

Swallowing back the nausea that was pushing at his throat, the Doctor turned back to Braxiatel. "Why are you telling me this?" he demanded, his voice a bit shaky. "If I'm going to die aboard a Dalek prison ship, if that's what has to happen, why are you telling me?"

"Because, Doctor, it doesn't have to happen."

"If it's a fixed point -"

"It's not."

The Doctor stared.

"It's an avoidance of the fixed point. After the destruction of the Unknown Ship, the Daleks simply retrieve it from another temporal point. A new paradox creates a new timeline and the cycle starts over again. The initial attack, your absence and return, and if you try to flee Gallifrey again, you will again be captured by the Daleks."

A flash of anger crossed the Doctor's thoughts, surprising in its intensity. "You knew all of this - about the Unknown Ship, the fact that the danger _wasn't _over - and yet you stood there arguing with me about that very point?"

"As I said, Doctor, the information contained in this projection is paramount to the knowledge held by the Visionary. I cannot allow it to influence decisions not yet made."

"But you're influencing my decision."

"In your case, it matters very little in the end. The paradoxical cycle will repeat itself over and over until, with or without my help, you get it right."

The Doctor swallowed hard as he met Braxiatel's cool gaze. "I don't believe that," he said flatly.

"Believe it, or don't," Braxiatel answered almost-casually. He leaned in slightly and gave a faint, knowing smile. "But you don't really think this is the first time we're having this conversation, do you?"

*X*X*X*

"I don't understand."

India was silent as she innocently studied the Tardis console, listening to the argument that was rising up near the door.

"I know, Charley, I know. And I... I wish I could explain."

"You said we were leaving! You said we had to leave!"

"And we did! But now we can't."

"What!"

"Charley, it's..." He gave a frustrated sigh. "Things have changed."

"In less than an hour? How much could things have possibly changed in less than an hour!"

He sighed again, but this time, she didn't give him a chance to reply.

"Braxiatel did this," she accused coldly. "What did he say to you? More importantly, why do you _believe _him!"

Lightly tracing her fingers over the controls, India considered what might happen if she simply took hold of them and dematerialized right here and now. Only a few short years into her Academy training, she had only a vague idea how to pilot this thing. But she did know where the dematerialization circuit was, and she was fairly certain the Tardis would comply with her directions. She had the Doctor's blood in her veins, after all...

She cast a glance toward him, and her gaze lingered for a moment. Her mother was flustered. No, that was putting it too mildly. She was angry and upset. Not at the decision to stay on Gallifrey, although that was certainly not something she would have chosen for herself. But at the fact that he wouldn't explain to her the reasons why. Funny how all of those years of talk about blind trust and how much the Doctor loved them all seemed to get buried under the pressure of their current situation. It seemed she didn't trust him so unquestioningly after all.

She finally stormed out of the Tardis. Julia, after she'd been dragged from the Academy under threat of social disgrace, had already barricaded herself into one of the rooms, up the steps and to the left. She'd hear soon enough that they weren't leaving. Then she would be gone at her first opportunity, back to the Academy and to her life and her friends - such as they were. India's stomach turned at the thought of following a step behind her, all the way back to the dormitories. If there was one place in the whole of time and space she _didn't _want to go right now, that was it.

It hadn't been easy, living here, learning how to fit in. Julia hadmade friends, in the end. Funny, being fully human had actually made it easier for her to fit in on Gallifrey. Her father was a "celebrity", and that made them all the wrong kinds of friends, in India's opinion. But Julia had always liked the attention. She was one of the non-Gallifreyan "outsiders", and they all banded together. But India's Gallifreyan blood prevented her from being accepted into their circle. And her single, human heart prevented her from being welcomed by the Gallifreyan students. She was shunned by both sides, and in the past ten years, she hadn't come across a single good reason for wanting to stay. She was more than a little disappointed that they weren't leaving this miserable place after all.

"The Daleks are coming back, aren't they?"

The Doctor looked up, and studied her for a long moment. She didn't flinch, just stared back at him. He was a stranger to her; she barely remembered him from when she was a baby. Ten years was the blink of an eye on this planet. But it was still three-fourths of her life...

"Yes," he finally answered solemnly. "Yes, they are."

She nodded slowly, and looked away again. "It's just as well. This planet is a horrible place. Maybe it's time it got destroyed."

The Doctor was clearly taken aback by her suggestion. He eyed her warily as he stepped closer. "If the Daleks invade, a lot of people will die. Do you understand that?"

She shrugged. "We've spent ten years running through the drills. We know what to do when they arrive." She looked up. "It won't be a bloodbath. But maybe it'll be a little humbling. I wouldn't mind that."

The Doctor gave her a sad, half smile. "Were it any race _but _the Daleks, I would probably agree with you." He stepped closer. "Did you ever hear about the time the Sontarans invaded Gallifrey?"

She nodded. "And you were elected president."

"Did they teach you that at the Academy?"

"Not as such. But everyone knows it." She looked up at him again and forced a smile. "You're a bit of a hero, by reputation."

The Doctor chuckled. "Yes, at the moment. Though that could change at any time."

India drew in a deep breath as she stepped away from the console and hugged her arms over her chest. "I don't want to go back to the Academy," she said quietly. "Not today. So I was wondering... Can I stay with you?"

He hesitated for a moment, considering. She held her breath, posture straight, trying for all the world to appear older than her thirteen years. Finally, the Doctor gave her a smile. "Alright. Yes. Of course. I'd love to have you."

She let out her breath and smiled back at him as he stepped closer to the console. And suddenly, she realized that it was the first time she'd really felt like smiling in years.

***X*X*X***

"My office. Now!"

Hearing President Romana's tone - the tense and authoritative one that she only used when she was very angry or very nervous - was no surprise. Braxiatel knew what the call was about, although Romana hadn't said. He wouldn't have expected her to say anything over an open com channel.

"Is something wrong, Madame President?" he asked as he entered her office and closed the door behind him.

She shot him a look that was designed to communicate just _how _wrong something was right now, and to appropriately curb his casual tone. He sighed, and straightened his robes before sitting down comfortably in the chair in front of her desk.

"I take it you've heard the report from the Communications Center," he said, eager to breach the subject of her angst.

She blinked, startled. "Have _you _heard? I was under the impression that I was first to be informed."

He hesitated for a moment. "The timing of events suggested that we might be hearing from them shortly."

"What do you mean?"

"The Doctor has found his way through the temporal distortion wave. We can only assume that if in fact there was any validation to the concern that the Daleks might do the same, they would be right behind him."

She stared, clearly dumbfounded. "You suspected this?"

"Well, I do admit that I would have expected the report to come from the Energy Tracking Center first. If this is the same threat - or a similar one - we ought to be able to see them before receiving their communications."

"The Energy Tracking Center has absolutely nothing to report. No abnormal fluctuations or energy spikes."

"Good." He smiled. "Then it seems we have nothing to worry about yet."

"Nothing to worry about!" Her eyes were wide as saucers. "Braxiatel! Just because we can't _see _those ships, just because we can't detect them -"

He raised a brow, but didn't interrupt. She was so flustered, her thoughts jumped track without any help from him.

"Do you remember how quickly all of this happened last time? In the time it took you to respond to my call, I've had Coordinator Rodak in my office demanding open access to my files on the Dalek Crisis, presuming - a bit prematurely, I might add - that this damnable _inquiry_ is still going to occur and to turn out in his favor and all I can think is that by the time we all sit down to argue over who should be in charge of whatever we should be doing, the Daleks could easily be right on our doorstep!"

"I'm not saying there isn't a threat," Braxiatel clarified calmly. "Far from it, actually. However, we are already on high alert and constantly scanning for any trace of Dalek activity. We'll have plenty of warning, and our defenses are quite ready. As for Coordinator Rodak, until the inquiry rules in his favor, he has no right to any information. Though if I were you, I might consider working out a trade."

She raised a brow. "A trade?"

"I understand Coordinator Narvin made some mention about a CIA operation before he died."

"The Doctor told you that?"

"Your Tardis Matrix told me that. I scanned it in order to make the report on Narvin's death."

"When did you have a chance to -"

"Rodak currently has a half dozen men doing the same, for your information. I hope there's nothing they will find in that database that might contribute to their efforts at the inquiry?"

Her look hardened into a glare. "I haven't used that Tardis in centuries. And even if I had, I have nothing to hide."

"Good. Then I suspect they'll find nothing more than I did. Though I suppose they will have more pieces of the puzzle than I do, currently."

"Of this CIA operation, you mean."

"Yes, I suspect so. Project Endgame?"

"I've not heard anything about it. Though the Doctor mentioned it as well." She hesitated a moment, then frowned. "What do you suppose the chances are that Rodak will admit knowledge of this presumed operation?"

"The chances are admittedly slim," he allowed. "But posing the question may itself provide some reprieve from his attempts at exercising his authority."

"And if it doesn't? Or, more importantly, if the Daleks invade while we're still bickering over who has jurisdiction?"

"We'll face the inquiry as it comes," Braxiatel answered calmly, as if there were nothing more to say. "And the Daleks the same way."


End file.
